7//J 


LOUIS 
JOSEPH 

VANCE 


THE    BRONZE    BELL 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Dodd,  »k.d  A  Company 


J. 


NOT    ONCE    DID    HE    LOOK    BACK    WHILE    AMBER    WATCHED— 
HIMSELF  DIVIDED  BETWEEN  AMUSEMENT,  ANNOYANCE, 

AND  ASTONISHMENT"  (PAGE  14) 


THE    BRONZE    BELL 


BY 


LOUIS  JOSEPH  VANCE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  BRASS  BOWL," 
"  THE  BLACK  BAG,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
HARRISON    FISHER 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

1909 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
LOUIS  JOSEPH  VANCE 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation 
•into  foreign  languages,  including  the  Scandinavian 

Published,  March,  1909 


To 

F.  E.  Z. 

Chatelaine  of  Juniper  Lodge 

Tlds  story  is  dedicated  by  one  to  whom  her 
hospitality,  transplanted  from  its  Kentucky 
home,  will  ever  remain  a  charming  memory 


2138S36 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  TAG*. 

I  DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU        ....  1 

II  THE   GIRL  AND  THE   TOKEN  16 

III  MAROONED 28 

IV  THE   MAN  PERDU 44 

V  THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT 69 

VI  RED  DAWN 92 

VII  MASKS    AND    FACES 115 

VIII  FIRST  STEPS 124 

IX  PINK  SATIN 144 

X  MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          .        .        .159 

XI  THE  TONGA 180 

XII  THE  LONG  DAY 193 

XIII  THE    PHOTOGRAPH         .        .        .        .        .211 

XIV  OVER   THE    WATER 230 

XV  FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE 249 

XVI  SUNRISE    FOR    Two 269 

XVII  THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR       .        .        .        .281 

XVIII  THE  HOODED  DEATH 307 

XIX  RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER 329 

XX  A   LATER  DAY 350 

XXI  THE  FINAL  INCARNATION  355 


vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Not  once  did  he  look  back  while  Amber 
watched  —  himself  divided  between 
amusement,  annoyance,  and  astonish- 
ment "  (page  14)  .  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

Sophia  Farrell Facing  page  102 

"  The  girl  joined  him  on  the  veranda  .  .  . 
very  demure  and  sweet  to  look  upon  in 
her  travelling-dress  of  light  pongee"  198 

"  The  woman  was  very  sweet  and  beautiful 
in  his  eyes  as  she  sat  with  her  white, 
round  arms  flashing  over  the  key- 
board"  "  "  220 


iz 


CHAPTER  I 

DESTINY    AND    THE    BABU 

BREAKING  suddenly  upon  the  steady  drumming  of  the 
trucks,  the  prolonged  and  husky  roar  of  a  locomotive 
whistle  saluted  an  immediate  grade-crossing. 

Roused  by  this  sound  from  his  solitary  musings  in 
the  parlour-car  of  which  he  happened  temporarily  to  be 
the  sole  occupant,  Mr.  David  Amber  put  aside  the 
magazine  over  which  he  had  been  dreaming,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  catching  a  glimpse  of  woodland  road 
shining  white  between  sombre  walls  of  stunted  pine. 
Lazily  he  consulted  his  watch. 

"  It's  not  for  nothing,"  he  observed  pensively,  "  that 
this  railroad  wears  its  reputation:  we  are  consistently 
late." 

His  gaze,  again  diverted  to  the  flying  countryside, 
noted  that  it  had  changed  character,  pine  yielding  to 
scrub-oak  and  second-growth — the  ragged  vestments  of 
an  area  some  years  since  denuded  by  fire.  This,  too, 
presently  swung  away,  giving  place  to  cleared  land — 
arable  acres  golden  with  the  stubble  of  garnered  har- 
vests or  sentinelled  with  unkempt  shocks  of  corn. 

In  the  south  a  shimmer  of  laughing  gold  and  blue 
edged  the  faded  horizon. 

Eagerly  the  young  man  leaned  forward,  dark  eyes 


2  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

lightening,  lips  parting  as  if  already  he  could  taste  the 
savour  of  the  sea. 

Then,  quite  without  warning,  a  deep  elbow  of  the  bay 
swept  up  almost  to  the  railway,  its  surface  mirror-like, 
profoundly  blue,  profoundly  beautiful. 

"I  think,"  said  the  traveller  softly — "I  think  it's 
mighty  fine  to  be  alive  and — here !  " 

He  lounged  back  comfortably  again,  smiling  as  he 
watched  the  wheeling  landscape,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
expectancy.  For  his  cares  were  negligible,  his  content 
boundless ;  he  was  experiencing,  for  the  first  time  in 
many  years,  a  sense  of  freedom  akin  to  that  felt  by  a 
schoolboy  at  the  beginning  of  the  summer  vacation.  The 
work  of  his  heart  and  hand  for  a  little  time  belonged 
equally  to  a  forgotten  Yesterday  and  an  uncontemplated 
To-morrow;  he  existed  only  for  the  confident  To-day 
He  had  put  behind  him  the  haunts  of  men,  and  his 
yearning  for  the  open  places  that  lay  before  him  was 
almost  childlike  in  its  fervency;  he  would,  indeed,  have 
been  quite  satisfied  if  assured  that  he  was  to  find  noth- 
ing to  do  save  to  play  aimlessly  in  the  sun.  But,  in 
point  of  fact,  he  looked  forward  to  an  employment 
much  more  pleasurable;  he  was  off  to  shoot  duck  with 
his  very  dear  friend,  Mr.  Anthony  Quain,  of  Tangle- 
wood  Lodge,  Nokomis,  Long  Island. 

Again  the  whistle  bawled  uncannily,  and  the  train 
began  to  moderate  its  speed.  Ob j  ects  in  the  foreground 
that  otherwise  had  been  mere  streaked  blurs  assumed 
recognisable  contours.  North  of  the  line  a  string  of 
squat,  square,  unlovely  "  frame  "  edifices,  aligned  upon 
a  country  road,  drifted  back.  A  brakeman  popped 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  3 

head  and  shoulders  into  the  car  and  out  again,  leaving 
the  echo  of  an  abrupt  bark  to  be  interpreted  at  the  pas- 
senger's leisure.  From  the  other  door  a  coloured  porter 
emerged  and,  fixing  his  lonely  charge  with  a  hungry  eye, 
relentlessly  bore  down  upon  him. 

"  The  nex'  is  yo'  stashun,  suh,"  he  announced, 
ominously  brandishing  an  immense  whisk-broom.  "  Shell 
Ah  bresh  yo'  off?  " 

"  Not  with  my  consent,"  replied  Amber,  with  dis- 
arming naivete.  "  I'd  much  rather  get  off  in  the  usual 
way." 

Rising  he  squared  himself  against  the  onslaught  of 
the  broom;  but  the  darky,  eyes  opaque  with  incompre- 
hension, held  his  hand. 

"  Ah  dunno  's  Ah  connect  wif  that,  suh,"  he  admitted 
regretfully. 

"  Never  mind.     Go  ahead  and  disperse  the  dust." 

"  Yas,  suh!  "  Tardily  convinced  that  his  passenger's 
intentions  were  both  humourous  and  benign,  if  difficult, 
the  porter  chuckled  and  fell  to  with  a  will.  For  several 
seconds  the  whisk-broom  played  like  chain-lightning 
round  the  young  man's  person,  leaving  him  immacu- 
late. 

"  Shell  Ah  tek  yo'  things,  suh?  " 

"  Please."  Amber  parted  with  the  expected  coin  and 
waved  the  negro  down  the  aisle  with  his  luggage;  then 
followed  him. 

Slowly  jolting  across  a  rutted,  dusty  road,  the  cars 
stopped.  Amber,  alighting,  found  himself  upon  a 
length  of  board-walk  platform  and  confronted  by  a  dis- 
tressingly matter-of-fact  wooden  structure,  combining 


4  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  functions  of  waiting-room  and  ticket  and  telegraph 
offices.  From  its  eaves  depended  a  weather-worn  board 
bearing  the  legend :  "  Nokomis." 

The  train,  pausing  only  long  enough  to  disgorge 
from  the  baggage-car  a  trunk  or  two  and  from  the  day- 
coaches  a  thin  trickle  of  passengers,  flung  on  into  the 
wilderness,  cracked  bell  clanking  somewhat  disdain- 
fully. 

By  degrees  the  platform  cleared,  the  erstwhile  pa- 
trons of  the  road  and  the  station  loafers — for  the  most 
part  hall-marked  natives  of  the  region — straggling  off 
upon  their  several  ways,  some  afoot,  a  majority  in 
dilapidated  surreys  and  buckboards.  Amber  watched 
them  go  with  unassumed  indifference ;  their  type  inter- 
ested him  little.  But  in  their  company  he  presently  dis- 
covered one,  a  figure  so  thoroughly  foreign  and  aloof 
in  attitude,  that  it  caught  his  eye,  and,  having  caught, 
held  it  clouded  with  perplexity. 

Abruptly  he  abandoned  his  belongings  and  gave 
chase,  overtaking  the  object  of  his  attention  at  the  far 
end  of  the  station. 

"  Doggott !  "  he  cried.     "  I  say,  Doggott !  " 

His  hand,  falling  lightly  upon  the  man's  shoulder, 
brought  him  squarely  about,  his  expression  transiently 
startled,  if  not  a  shade  truculent. 

Short  and  broad  yet  compact  of  body,  he  was  some- 
thing round-shouldered,  with  the  stoop  of  those  who 
serve.  In  a  mask  of  immobility,  full-colored  and  closely 
shaven,  his  lips  were  thin  and  tight,  his  eyes  steady, 
grey  and  shallow:  a  countenance  neither  dishonest  nor 
repellent,  but  one  inscrutable.  Standing  solidly,  once 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  5 

halted,  there  remained  a  suggestion  of  alertnes  in  the 
fellow's  pose. 

"  Doggott,  what  the  deuce  brings  you  here?  And 
Mr.  Rutton?  " 

Amber's  cordiality  educed  no  response.  The  grey 
eyes,  meeting  eyes  dark,  kindly,  and  penetrating,  flick- 
ered and  fell;  so  much  emotion  they  betrayed,  no  more, 
and  that  as  disingenuous  as  you  could  wish. 

"  Doggott !  "  insisted  Amber,  disconcerted.  "  Surely 
you  haven't  forgotten  me — Mr.  Amber  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he 
said ;  "  you've  got  my  nyme  'andy  enough,  but  I  don't 
know  you,  and " 

"But  Mr.  Rutton?" 

"  Is  a  party  I've  never  'card  of,  if  you'll  excuse  my 
sayin'  so,  no  more'n  I  'ave  of  yourself,  sir." 

"  Well !  "  began  Amber  ;  but  paused,  his  face  harden- 
ing as  he  looked  the  man  up  and  down,  nodding  slowly. 

"  Per'aps,"  continued  Mr.  Doggott,  unabashed, 
"  you  mistyke  me  for  my  brother,  'Enery  Doggott.  'E 
was  'ome,  in  England,  larst  I  'card  of  'im.  We  look  a 
deal  alike,  I've  been  told." 

"  You  would  be,"  admitted  Amber  drily ;  and,  shut- 
ting his  teeth  upon  his  inherent  contempt  for  a  liar,  he 
swung  away,  acknowledging  with  a  curt  nod  the  civil 
"  Good-arfternoon,  sir,"  that  followed  him. 

The  man  had  disappeared  by  the  time  Amber  re- 
gained his  kit-bag  and  gun-case;  standing  over  which 
he  surveyed  his  surroundings  with  some  annoyance,  dis- 
covering that  he  now  shared  the  station  with  none  but 
the  ticket-agent.  A  shambling  and  disconsolate  youth, 


6  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

clad  in  a  three-days'  growth  of  beard,  a  checked  jumper 
and  khaki  trousers,  this  person  lounged  negligently  in 
the  doorway  of  the  waiting-room  and,  caressing  his 
rusty  chin  with  nicotine-dyed  fingers,  regarded  the 
stranger  in  Nokomis  with  an  air  of  subtle  yet  vaguely 
melancholy  superiority. 

"  If  ye're  lookin'  for  th'  hotel,"  he  volunteered  un- 
expectedly, "  there  aint  none ;  "  and  effected  a  masterly 
retreat  into  the  ticket-booth. 

Amused,  the  despised  outlander  picked  up  his  lug- 
gage and  followed  amiably.  "  I'm  not  looking  for  the 
.hotel  that  aint,"  he  said,  planting  himself  in  front  of 
the  grating ;  "  but  I  expected  to  be  met  by  someone 
from  Tanglewood " 

"  Thet's  the  Quain  place,  daown  by  th'  ba-ay,"  inter- 
polated the  youth  from  unplumbed  depths  of  mournful 
abstraction. 

"  It  is.     I  wired  yesterday " 

"  Yeour  name's  Amber,  aint  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I " 

"  Well,  Quain  didn't  get  yeour  message  till  this 
mornin'.  I  sent  a  kid  daown  with  it  'baout  ten  o'clock." 

"  But  why  the — but  I  wired  yesterday  afternoon !  " 

"  I  knaow  ye  did,"  assented  the  youth  wearily.  "  It 
come  through  raound  closin'  time  and  they  wa'n't  no- 
body baound  that  way,  so  I  held  it  over." 

'  This  craze  for  being  characteristic,"  observed  Mr. 
Amber  obscurely,  "  is  the  only  thing  that  really  stands 
in  the  way  of  Nokomis  becoming  a  thriving  metropolis. 
Do  you  agree  with  me?  No  matter."  He  smiled  en- 
gagingly :  a  seasoned  traveller  this,  who  could  recognise 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  7 

the  futility  of  bickering  over  the  irreparable.  More- 
over, he  had  to  remind  himself  in  all  fairness,  the  blame 
was,  in  part  at  least,  his  own ;  for  he  had  thoughtlessly 
worded  his  telegram,  "  Will  be  with  you  to-morrow 
afternoon  " ;  and  it  was  wholly  like  Quain  that  he  should 
have  accepted  the  statement  at  its  face  value,  regardless 
of  the  date  line. 

"  I  can  leave  my  things  here  for  a  little  while,  I  pre- 
sume? "  Amber  suggested  after  a  pause. 

The  ticket-agent  stared  stubbornly  into  the  infinite, 
making  no  sign  till  a  coin  rang  on  the  window-ledge; 
when  he  started,  eyed  the  offering  with  fugitive  mis- 
trust, and  gloomily  possessed  himself  of  it.  "  I'll  look 
after  them,"  he  said.  "  Be  ye  thinkin'  of  walkin'?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Amber  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  already 
moving  toward  the  door. 

"  Knaow  yeour  wa-ay  ?  " 

"  I've  been  here  before,  thank  you." 

"  Fer  another  quarter,"  drawled  the  agent  with  elab- 
orate apathy,  "  I'd  leave  the  office  long  enough  to  find 
somebody  who'd  fetch  ye  daown  in  a  rig  for  fifty  cents." 

But  Amber  was  already  out  of  ear-shot. 

Crossing  the  tracks,  he  addressed  himself  to  the 
southward-stretching  highway.  Walking  briskly  at 
first,  he  soon  left  behind  the  railway-station  with  its  few 
parasitic  cottages ;  a  dip  in  the  land  hid  them,  and  he 
had  hereafter  for  all  company  his  thoughts,  the  de- 
sultory road,  a  vast  and  looming  sky,  and  bare  fields 
hedged  with  impoverished  forest. 

A  deep  languor  brooded  over  the  land :  the  still,  warm 
enchantment  of  an  Indian  Summer  which,  protracted 


8  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

though  it  were  unseasonably  into  the  Ides  of  Novem- 
ber, had  yet  lost  nothing  of  its  witchery.  There  was 
no  wind,  but  now  and  again  the  air  stirred  softly,  and 
when  it  stirred  was  cool ;  as  if  the  earth  sighed  in  sheer 
lassitude.  Out  of  a  cloudless  sky,  translucent  sapphire 
at  its  zenith  fading  into  hazy  topaz-yellow  at  the  hori- 
zon, golden  sunlight  slanted,  casting  shadows  heavy  and 
colourful ;  on  the  edge  of  the  woodlands  they  clung  like 
thin  purple  smoke,  but  motionless,  and  against  them, 
here  and  there,  a  clump  of  sumach  blazed  like  a  bed  of 
embers,  or  some  tree  loath  to  shed  its  autumnal  livery 
flamed  scarlet,  russet,  and  mauve.  The  peace  of  the 
hour  was  intense,  and  only  emphasised  by  a  dull,  throb- 
bing undertone — the  muted  murmur  of  the  distant  sea. 

Amber  had  professed  acquaintance  with  his  way ;  it 
seemed  rather  to  be  intimacy,  for  when  he  chose  to  for- 
sake the  main-travelled  road  he  did  so  boldly,  striking 
off  upon  a  wagon-track  which,  leading  across  the  fields, 
delved  presently  into  the  heart  of  the  forest.  Here  it 
ran  snakily  and,  carved  by  broad-tired  wheels  and 
beaten  out  by  slowly  plodding  hoofs  in  a  soil  more  than 
half  sand,  glimmered  white  as  rock-salt  where  the  drift- 
ing leaves  had  left  it  naked. 

Once  in  this  semi-dusk  made  luminous  by  sunlight 
which  touched  and  quivered  upon  dead  leaf  and  withered 
bush  and  bare  brown  bough  like  splashes  of  molten  gold, 
the  young  man  moved  more  sedately.  The  hush  of  the 
forest  world  bore  heavily  upon  his  senses ;  the  slight  and 
stealthy  rustlings  in  the  brush,  the  clear  dense  ringing 
of  some  remote  axe,  an  attenuated  clamour  of  cawing 
from  some  far  crows'  congress,  but  served  to  accentuate 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  9 

its  influence.  On  that  windless  day  the  vital  breath  of 
the  sea  might  not  moderate  the  bitter-sweet  aroma  of 
decay  that  swam  beneath  the  unmoving  branches;  and 
this  mournful  fragrance  of  dying  Autumn  wrought 
upon  Amber's  mood  as  might  a  whiff  of  some  exquisite 
rare  perfume  revive  a  poignant  memory  in  the  bosom 
of  a  bereaved  lover.  His  glance  grew  aimless,  his  tem- 
per as  purposeless,  lively  anticipation  giving  way  to 
a  retrospection  tinged  with  indefinable  sadness. 

Then  into  the  silence  crept  a  sound  to  rouse  him  from 
his  formless  reverie:  at  first  a  mere  pulsing  in  the  still- 
ness, barely  to  be  distinguished  from  the  song  of  the 
surf;  but  presently  a  pounding,  ever  louder  and  more 
insistent.  He  paused,  attentive;  and  while  he  waited 
the  drumming,  minute  by  minute  gaining  in  volume, 
swept  swiftly  toward  him — the  rhythmic  hoofbeats  of  a 
single  horse  madly  ridden.  When  it  was  close  upon  him 
he  stepped  back  into  the  tangled  undergrowth,  making 
room;  for  the  track  was  anything  but  wide. 

Simultaneously  there  burst  into  view,  at  the  end  of  a 
brief  aisle  of  trees,  the  horse — a  vigorous  black  brute 
with  white  socks  and  muzzle — running  freely,  apparently 
under  constraint  neither  of  whip  nor  of  spur.  In  the 
saddle  a  girl  leaned  low  over  the  horn — a  girl  with  eyes 
rapturous,  face  brilliant,  lips  parted  in  the  least  of 
smiles.  A  fold  of  her  black  habit-skirt,  whipping  out, 
almost  snapped  in  Amber's  face,  so  close  to  him  she  rode ; 
yet  she  seemed  not  to  see  him,  and  very  likely  did  not. 
A  splendid  sketch  in  black-and-white,  of  youthful  spirit 
and  joy  of  motion:  so  she  passed  and  was  gone.  .  .  . 

Hardly,  however,  had  the  forest  closed  upon  the  pic- 


10  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ture,  ere  a  cry,  a  heavy  crashing  as  of  a  horse  thresh- 
ing about  in  the  underbrush,  and  a  woman's  scream  of 
terror,  sent  Amber,  in  one  movement,  out  into  the  road 
again  and  running  at  a  pace  which,  had  he  been  con- 
scious of  it,  would  have  surprised  him. 

A  short  fifty  yards  separated  him  from  the  bend  in 
the  way  round  which  the  horse  and  its  rider  had  van- 
ished. He  had  no  more  than  gained  this  point  than  he 
was  obliged  to  pull  up  sharply  to  avoid  running  into 
the  girl  herself. 

Although  dismounted,  she  was  on  her  feet,  and  ap- 
parently uninjured.  She  stood  with  one  hand  against 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  on  the  edge  of  a  small  clearing 
wherein  the  axes  of  the  local  lumbermen  had  but  lately 
been  busy.  Her  horse  had  disappeared;  the  rumble  of 
his  hoofs,  diminuendo,  told  the  way  he  had  gone. 

So  much  Amber  comprehended  in  a  single  glance; 
with  a  second  he  sought  the  cause  of  the  accident,  and 
identified  it  with  a  figure  so  outre  and  bizarre  that  he 
momentarily  and  excusably  questioned  the  testimony  of 
his  senses. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  girl,  in  the  act  of  ad- 
dressing her,  stood  a  man,  obese,  gross,  abnormally 
distended  with  luxurious  and  sluggish  living,  as  little 
common  to  the  scene  as  a  statue  of  Phoebus  Apollo 
had  been:  a  babu  of  Bengal,  every  inch  of  him,  from 
his  dirty  red-and- white  turban  to  his  well-worn  and 
cracked  patent-leather  shoes.  His  body  was  enveloped 
in  a  complete  suit  of  emerald  silk,  much  soiled  and  faded, 
and  girt  with  a  sash  of  many  colours,  crimson  predomi- 
nating. His  hands,  fat,  brown,  and  not  overclean,  alter- 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  11 

nately  fluttered  apologetically  and  rubbed  one  another 
with  a  suggestion  of  extreme  urbanity ;  his  lips,  thick, 
sensual,  and  cruel,  mouthed  a  broken  stream  of  babu- 
English;  while  his  eyes,  nearly  as  small  and  quite  as 
black  as  shoe-buttons — eyes  furtive,  crafty,  and  cold — 
suddenly  distended  and  became  fixed,  as  with  amazement, 
at  the  instant  of  Amber's  appearance. 

Instinctively,  as  soon  as  he  had  mastered  his  initial 
stupefaction,  Amber  stepped  forward  and  past  the  girl, 
placing  himself  between  her  and  this  preposterous  ap- 
parition, as  if  to  shield  her.  He  was  neither  overly 
imaginative  nor  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind;  but,  the 
circumstances  reviewed,  it's  nothing  to  his  discredit  that 
he  entertained  a  passing  suspicion  of  some  curious  con- 
spiracy against  the  girl,  thought  of  an  ambuscade,  and 
with  quick  eyes  raked  the  surroundings  for  signs  of  a 
confederate  of  the  Bengali. 

He  found,  however,  nothing  alarming,  no  indication 
that  the  man  were  not  alone ;  nor,  for  that  matter,  could 
he  reasonably  detect  in  the  fellow's  bearing  anything  but 
a  spirit  of  conciliation  almost  servile.  None  the  less  he 
held  himself  wary  and  alert,  and  was  instant  to  halt  the 
babu  when  he,  with  the  air  of  a  dog  cringing  to  his 
master's  feet  for  punishment,  would  have  drawn  nearer. 

"  Stop  right  there !  "  Amber  told  him  crisply ;  and 
got  for  response  obedience,  a  low  salaam,  and  the  Hindu 
salutation  accorded  only  to  persons  of  high  rank: 
"  Hazoor !  "  But  before  the  babu  could  say  more  the 
American  addressed  the  girl.  "What  did  he  do?"  he 
inquired,  without  looking  at  her.  "  Frighten  your 
horse  ?  " 


12  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Just  that."  The  girl's  tone  was  edged  with  tem- 
per. "  He  jumped  out  from  behind  that  woodpile;  the 
horse  shied  and  threw  me." 

"  You're  not  hurt,  I  trust?  " 

«  No — thank  you ;  but  " — with  a  nervous  laugh — 
"I'm  furiously  angry." 

"  That's  reasonable  enough."  Amber  returned  un- 
divided attention  to  the  Bengali.  "  Now  then,"  he  de- 
manded sternly,  "  what  've  you  got  to  say  for  your- 
self? What  do  you  mean  by  frightening  this  lady's 
horse?  What  are  you  doing  here,  anyway?  " 

Almost  grovelling,  the  babu  answered  him  in  Urdu: 
"  Hazoor,  I  am  your  slave 

Without  thinking  Amber  couched  his  retort  in  the 
same  tongue :  "  Count  yourself  lucky  you  are  not,  dog !  " 

"  Nay,  hazoor,  but  I  meant  no  harm.  I  was  resting, 
being  fatigued,  in  the  shelter  of  the  wood,  when  the 
noise  of  hoofs  disturbed  me  and  I  stepped  out  to  see. 
When  the  woman  was  thrown  I  sought  to  assist  her,  but 
she  threatened  me  with  her  whip." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  the  girl  cut  in  over  Amber's 
shoulder.  "  I  don't  think  he  intended  to  harm  me,  but 
it's  purely  an  accident  that  he  didn't." 

Inasmuch  as  the  babu's  explanation  had  been  made 
in  fluent,  vernacular  Urdu,  Amber's  surprise  at  the 
girl's  evident  familiarity  with  that  tongue  was  hardly 
to  be  concealed.  "  You  understand  Urdu  ?  "  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Aye,"  she  told  him  in  that  tongue,  "  and  speak  it, 
too." 

"You  know  this  man,  then?" 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  13 

"  No.     Do  you?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.     How  should  I?  " 

"  You  yourself  speak  Urdu." 

"  Well  but "  The  situation  hardly  lent  itself  to 

such  a  discussion ;  he  had  the  babu  first  to  dispose  of. 
Amber  resumed  his  cross-examination.  "  Who  are 
you  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  And  what  is  your  business  in 
this  place?  " 

The  fat  yellowish-brown  face  was  distorted  by  a 
fugitive  grimace  of  deprecation.  "  Hazoor,  I  am  Be- 
hari  Lai  Chatter ji,  solicitor,  of  the  Inner  Temple." 

"  Well?    And  your  business  here?  " 

"  Hazoor,  that  is  for  your  secret  ear."  The  babu 
drew  himself  up,  assuming  a  certain  dignity.  "  It  is 
not  meet  that  the  message  of  the  Bell  should  be  uttered 
in  the  hearing  of  an  Englishwoman,  hazoor." 

"  What  are  you  drivelling  about  ?  "  In  his  blank 
wonder,  Amber  returned  to  English  as  to  a  tongue  more 
suited  to  his  urgent  need  of  forcible  expression.  "  And, 
look  here,  you  stop  calling  me  '  Hazoor.'  I'm  no  more 
a  hazoor  than  you  are — idiot !  " 

"  Nay,"  contended  the  babu  reproachfully ;  "  is  it 
right  that  you  should  seek  to  hoodwink  me?  Have  I 
not  eyes  with  which  to  see  you,  ears  that  can  hear  you 
speak  our  tongue,  hazoor?  I  am  no  child,  to  be  played 
with — I,  the  appointed  Mouthpiece  of  the  Voice !  " 

"  I  know  naught  of  your  *  Voice  '  or  its  mouthpiece ; 
but  certainly  you  are  no  child.  You  are  either  mad,  or 
insolent — or  a  fool  to  be  kicked."  And  in  exasperation 
Amber  took  a  step  toward  the  man  as  if  to  carry  into 
effect  his  implied  threat. 


14  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Alarmed,  the  babu  cringed  and  retreated  a  pace; 
then,  suddenly,  raising  an  arm,  indicated  the  girl. 
"  Hazoor !  "  he  cried.  "  Be  quick — the  woman  faints !  " 
And  as  Amber  hastily  turned,  with  astonishing  agility 
the  babu  sprang  toward  him. 

Warned  by  his  moving  shadow  as  much  as  by  the 
girl's  cry,  Amber  leapt  aside  and  lifted  a  hand  to  strike ; 
but  before  it  could  deliver  a  blow  it  was  caught  and  a 
small  metallic  object  thrust  into  it.  Upon  this  his 
fingers  closed  instinctively,  and  the  babu  spring  back, 
panting  and  quaking. 

"  The  Token,  hazoor,  the  Token !  "  he  quavered.  "  It 
is  naught  but  that — the  Token !  " 

"  Token,  you  fool !  "  cried  Amber,  staring  stupidly  at 
the  man.  "  What  in  thunder !  " 

"  Nay,  hazoor ;  how  should  I  tell  you  now,  when  an- 
other sees  and  hears?  At  another  time,  hazoor,  in  a 
week,  or  a  day,  or  an  hour,  mayhap,  I  come  again — for 
your  answer.  Till  then  and  forever  I  am  your  slave, 
hazoor:  the  dust  beneath  your  feet.  Now,  I  go." 

And  with  a  haste  that  robbed  the  courtesy  of  its 
grace,  the  Bengali  salaamed,  then  wheeled  square  about 
and,  hitching  his  clothing  round  him,  made  off  with  a 
celerity  surprising  in  one  of  his  tremendous  bulk,  strik- 
ing directly  into  the  heart  of  the  woods. 

For  as  much  as  a  minute  he  was  easily  to  be  followed, 
his  head  and  shoulders  rising  above  the  brush  through 
which  he  forged  purposefully,  with  something  of  the 
heedless  haste  of  a  man  bent  on  keeping  a  pressing  en- 
gagement— or  a  sinner  fleeing  the  wrath  to  come.  Not 
once  did  he  look  back  while  Amber  watched — himself  di- 


DESTINY  AND  THE  BABU  15 

vided  between  amusement,  annoyance,  and  astonishment. 
Presently  the  trees  blotted  out  the  red-and-white  tur- 
ban; the  noise  of  the  babu's  elephantine  retreat  dimin- 
ished; and  Amber  was  left  to  knit  his  brows  over  the 
object  which  had  been  forced  upon  him  so  unexpectedly. 

It  proved  to  be  a  small,  cubical  box,  something  more 
than  an  inch  square,  fashioned  of  bronze  and  elaborately 
decorated  with  minute  relief  work  in  the  best  manner 
of  ancient  Indian  craftsmanship. 

"  May  I  see,  please  ?  "  The  voice  of  the  girl  at  his 
side  recalled  to  Amber  her  existence.  "  May  I  see,  too, 
please,  Mr.  Amber?  "  she  repeated. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    GIRL    AND    THE    TOKEN 

IN  his  astonishment  he  looked  round  quickly  to  meet 
the  gaze  of  mischievous  eyes  that  strove  vainly  to  seem 
simple  and  sincere.  His  own,  in  which  amusement  was 
blended  with  wonder,  noted  that  they  were  very  hand- 
some eyes  and  rather  curiously  colourful,  the  delicate 
sepia  shade  of  the  pupils  being  lightened  by  a  faint 
sheen  of  gold  in  the  irides;  they  were,  furthermore, 
large  and  set  well  apart.  On  the  whole  he  decided  that 
they  were  even  beautiful,  for  all  the  dancing  glimmer 
of  perverse  humour  in  their  depths ;  he  could  fancy  that 
they  might  well  seem  very  sweet  and  womanly  when  their 
owner  chose  to  be  serious. 

Aware  that  he  faced  an  uncommonly  pretty  woman, 
who  chose  to  study  him  with  a  straightforward  interest 
he  was  nothing  loath  to  imitate,  he  took  time  to  see  that 
she  was  very  fair  of  skin,  with  that  creamy,  silken  white- 
ness that  goes  with  hair  of  the  shade  commonly  and 
unjustly  termed  red.  This  girl's  hair  was  really  brown, 
a  rich  sepia  interwoven  with  strands  of  raw,  ruddy  gold, 
admirably  harmonious  with  her  eyes.  Her  nose  he 
thought  a  trace  too  severely  perfect  in  its  modelling,  but 
redeemed  by  a  broad  and  thoughtful  brow,  a  strong  yet 
absolutely  feminine  chin,  and  a  mouth  .  .  .  Well, 
as  to  her  mouth,  the  young  man  selected  a  rosebud  to 

16 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  17 

liken  it  to ;  which  was  really  quite  a  poor  simile,  for  her 
lips  were  nothing  at  all  like  rose-leaves  save  in  colour; 
but  they  were  well-shapen  and  wide  enough  to  suggest 
generosity,  without  being  in  the  least  too  wide. 

Having  catalogued  these  several  features,  together 
with  the  piquant  oval  of  her  face,  and  remarked  that 
her  poise  was  good  and  gracious  in  the  uncompromising 
lines  of  her  riding-habit,  he  had  a  mental  portrait  of 
her  he  was  not  likely  soon  to  forget.  For  it's  not  every 
day  that  one  encounters  so  pretty  a  girl  in  the  woods  of 
Long  Island's  southern  shore — or  anywhere  else,  for 
that  matter.  He  felt  sure  of  this. 

But  he  was  equally  certain  that  he  was  as  much  a 
stranger  to  her  as  she  to  him. 

She,  on  her  part,  had  been  busy  satisfying  herself 
that  he  was  a  very  presentable  young  man,  in  spite  of 
the  somewhat  formidable  reputation  he  wore  as  a  person 
of  learned  attainments.  There  could  be  no  better  way 
to  show  him  to  you  than  through  her  eyes,  so  you  must 
know  that  she  saw  a  man  of  less  than  thirty  years,  with 
a  figure  slight  and  not  over-tall  but  well-proportioned, 
and  with  a  complexion  as  dark  as  hers  was  light.  His 
eyes,  indeed,  were  a  very  dark  grey,  and  his  hair  was 
black,  and  his  face  and  hands  had  been  coloured  by  the 
sun  and  wind  until  the  tan  had  become  indelible,  almost, 
so  that  his  prolonged  periods  of  studious  indoor  seclu- 
sion worked  little  toward  lightening  it.  If  his  looks 
attracted,  it  was  not  because  he  was  handsome,  for  that 
he  wasn't,  but  because  of  certain  signs  of  strength  to 
be  discerned  in  his  face,  as  well  as  an  engaging  manner 
which  he  owned  by  right  of  ancestry,  his  ascendants  for 


18  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

several  generations  having  been  notable  representatives 
of  one  of  the  First  Families  of  Virginia.  Amber  was 
not  inordinately  proud  of  this  fact,  at  least  not  more  so 
than  nine  out  of  any  ten  Virginians;  but  his  friends — 
who  were  many  but  mostly  male — claimed  that  he  wrote 
"  F.F.V."  before  the  "  F.R.S."  which  he  was  entitled 
to  inscribe  after  his  name. 

The  pause  which  fell  upon  the  girl's  use  of  his  name, 
and  during  which  they  looked  one  another  over,  was 
sufficiently  prolonged  to  excuse  the  reference  to  it  which 
Amber  chose  to  make. 

"  Pm  sure,"  he  said  with  his  slow  smile,  "  that  we're 
satisfied  we've  never  met  before.  Aren't  we?  " 

"  Quite,"  assented  the  girl. 

"  That  only  makes  it  the  more  mysterious,  of  course." 

"  Yes,"  said  she  provokingly ;  "  doesn't  it?  " 

"  You  know,  you're  hardly  fair  to  me,"  he  asserted. 
"  I'm  rapidly  beginning  to  entertain  doubts  of  my 
senses.  When  I  left  the  train  at  Nokomis  station  I  met 
a  man  I  know  as  well  as  I  know  myself — pretty  nearly ; 
and  he  denied  me  to  my  face.  Then,  a  little  later,  I 
encounter  a  strange,  mad  Bengali,  who  apparently  takes 
me  for  somebody  he  has  business  with.  And  finally,  you 
call  me  by  name." 

"  It  isn't  so  very  remarkable,  when  you  come  to  con- 
sider it,"  she  returned  soberly.  "  Mr.  David  Amber  is 
rather  well  known,  even  in  his  own  country.  I  might 
very  well  have  seen  your  photograph  published  in  con- 
nection with  some  review  of — let  me  see.  .  .  .  Your 
latest  book  was  entitled  '  The  Peoples  of  the  Hindu 
Kush,'  wasn't  it?  You  see,  I  haven't  read  it." 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  19 

"  That's  sensible  of  you,  I'm  sure.  Why  should  you? 
.  .  .  But  your  theory  doesn't  hold  water,  because  I 
won't  permit  my  publishers  to  print  my  picture,  and,  be/- 
sides,  reviews  of  such  stupid  books  generally  appear  in 
profound  monthlies  which  abhor  illustrations." 

"  Oh !  "  She  received  this  with  a  note  of  disappoint- 
ment. "  Then  my  explanation  won't  do?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  laughed,  "  but  you'll  have  to  be  more 
ingenious — and  practical." 

"  And  you  won't  show  me  the  present  the  babu  made 
you?" 

He  closed  his  fingers  jealously  over  the  bronze  box. 
"  Not  until  .  .  ." 

"  You  insist  on  reciprocity  ?  " 

«  Absolutely." 

"  That's  very  unkind  of  you." 

"  How?  "  he  demanded  blankly. 

"  You  will  have  it  that  I  must  surrender  my  only  ad- 
vantage— my  incognito.  If  I  tell  you  how  I  happen  to 
know  who  you  are,  I  must  tell  you  who  I  am.  Imme- 
diately you  will  lose  interest  in  me,  because  I'm  really 
not  at  all  advanced ;  I  doubt  if  I  should  understand 
your  book  if  I  had  to  read  it." 

"  Which  Heaven  f orfend !  But  why,"  he  insisted 
mercilessly,  "  do  you  wish  me  to  be  interested  in  you?  " 

She  flushed  becomingly  at  this  and  acknowledged  the 
touch  with  a  rueful,  smiling  glance.  But,  "  Because  I'm 
interested  in  you,"  she  admitted  openly. 

"And     .     .     .     why?" 

"  Are  you  hardened  to  such  adventures  ? "  She 
nodded  in  the  direction  the  babu  had  taken.  "  Are  you 


20  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

accustomed  to  being  treated  with  extraordinary  re- 
spect by  stray  Bengalis  and  accepting  tokens  from 
them?  Is  romance  commonplace  to  you?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  disappointed,  "  if  it's  only  the  ad- 
venture  1    of  course,  that's  easily  enough  explained. 

This  half-witted  mammoth — don't  ask  me  how  he  came 
to  be  here — thought  he  recognised  in  me  some  one  he  had 
known  in  India.  Let's  have  a  look  at  this  token-thing." 

He  disclosed  the  bronze  box  and  let  her  take  it  in  her 
pretty  fingers. 

"  It  must  have  a  secret  spring,"  she  concluded,  after 
a  careful  inspection. 

"  I  think  so,  but    .    .    ." 

She  shook  it,  holding  it  by  her  ear.    "  There's  some- 
thing inside — it  rattles  ever  so  slightly.    I  wonder !  " 

"  No  more  than  I." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  "     She 
returned  it  reluctantly. 

"  Why,  there's  nothing  to  do  but  keep  it  till  the  owner 
turns  up,  that  I  can  see." 

"  You  won't  break  it  open  ?  " 

"  Not  until  curiosity  overpowers  me  and  I've  ex- 
hausted every  artifice,  trying  to  find  the  catch." 

"  Are  you  a  patient  person,  Mr.  Amber?  " 

"  Not  extraordinarily  so,  Miss  Farrell." 

"  Oh,  how  did  you  guess  ?  " 

"  By  remembering  not  to  be  stupid.  You  are  Miss 
Sophia  Farrell,  daughter  of  Colonel  Farrell  of  the 
British  Diplomatic  Service  in  India."  He  chuckled 
cheerfully  over  this  triumph  of  deductive  reasoning. 
"  You  are  visiting  the  Quains  for  a  few  days,  while  en 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  21 

route  for  India  with  some  friends  whose  name  I've  for- 
gotten  " 

"  The  Rolands,"  she  prompted  involuntarily. 

"  Thank  you.  .  .  .  The  Rolands,  who  are  stop- 
ping in  New  York.  You've  lived  several  years  with  your 
father  in  India,  went  back  to  London  to  '  come  out ' 
and  are  returning,  having  been  presented  at  the  Court 
of  St.  James.  Your  mother  was  an  American  girl,  a 
schoolmate  of  Mrs.  Quain's.  I'm  afraid  that's  the  whole 
sum  of  my  knowledge  of  you." 

"  You've  turned  the  tables  fairly,  Mr.  Amber,"  she 
admitted.  "  And  Mr.  Quain  wrote  you  all  that?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  he  told  me  almost  as  much  about  you  as 
he  told  you  about  me ;  we're  old  friends,  you  know.  And 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  Quain  has  one  of  the  few 
photographs  of  me  extant.  So  my  chain  of  reasoning's 
complete.  And  I  think  we'd  better  hurry  on  to  Tangle- 
wood." 

"  Indeed,  yes.  Mrs.  Quain  will  be  wild  with  worry  if 
that  animal  finds  his  way  back  to  the  stable  without 
me;  I've  been  very  thoughtless."  She  caught  up  her 
riding-skirt  and  started  down  the  path  with  Amber 
trudging  contently  beside  her.  "  However,"  she  con- 
sidered demurely,  "  I'm  not  at  all  sorry,  really ;  it's 
quite  an  experience  to  have  a  notability  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, even  if  only  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  he  begged  in  boyish  embar- 
rassment. "  I'm  not  a  notability,  really ;  Quain's  been 
talking  too  much.  I'll  get  even  with  him,  though." 

"  That  sounds  so  modest  that  I  almost  believe  I've 
made  a  mistake  about  your  identity.  But  I've  no  doubt 


22  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

you're  right;  Mr.  Quain  does  exaggerate  in  praise  of 
his  friends.  Very  likely  it  is  as  you  insist,  and  you're 
only  an  ordinary  person,  after  all.  At  least,  you  would 
be  if  stray  babus  didn't  make  you  mysterious  pres- 
ents." 

"  So  long  as  there  is  that  to  hold  your  interest  in  me, 
I'm  content,"  he  told  her,  diverted.  "  How  much  longer 
shall  you  stay  at  Tanglewood,  Miss  Farrell?" 

"  Unhappily,"  she  sighed,  "  I  must  leave  on  the  early 
train  to-morrow,  to  join  the  Rolands  in  New  York." 
"  You  don't  want  to  go  ?  " 

"I'm  half  an  American,  Mr.  Amber.     I've  learned 
to  love  the  country  already.     Besides,  we  start  imme- 
diately for  San  Francisco,  and  it'll  be   such  a,  little 
while  before  I'll  be  in  India." 
"  You  don't  care  for  India  ?  " 

"  I've  known  it  for  less  than  six  years,  but  already 
I've  come  to  hate  it  as  thoroughly  as  any  exiled  Eng- 
lishwoman there.  It  sits  there  like  a  great,  insatiable 
monster,  devouring  English  lives.  Indirectly  it  was 
responsible  for  my  mother's  death;  she  never  recovered 
from  the  illness  she  contracted  when  my  father  was  sta- 
tioned in  the  Deccan.  In  the  course  of  time  it  will  kill 
my  father,  just  as  it  did  his  father  and  his  elder  brother. 
It's  a  cruel,  hateful,  ungrateful  land — not  worth  the 
price  we  pay  for  it." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,"  he  said  with  sympathy.  "  It's 
been  a  good  many  years  since  I  visited  India,  and  of 
course  I  then  saw  and  heard  little  of  the  darker  side. 
Your  people  are  brave  enough,  out  there." 

"  They  are.     I  don't  know  about  Government ;  but 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  23 

its  servants  are  loyal  and  devoted  and  unselfish  and 
cheerful.  And  I  don't  at  all  understand,"  she  added 
in  confusion,  "  why  I  should  have  decided  to  inflict  upon 
you  my  emotional  hatred  of  the  country.  Your  ques- 
tion gave  me  the  opening,  and  I  forgot  myself." 

"  I  assure  you  I  was  thoroughly  shocked,  Miss  Far- 
rell." 

"  You  should  have  been — surprised,  at  least.  Why 
should  I  pour  out  my  woes  to  you — a  man  I've  known 
not  fifteen  minutes  ?  " 

'*  Why  not,  if  you  felt  like  it  ?  After  all,  you  know, 
we're  both  of  us  merely  making  talk  to — ah — to  cover 
our  interest  in  one  another." 

She  paused  momentarily  to  laugh  at  his  candour. 
"  You  are  outspoken,  Mr.  Amber !  It's  very  pretty  of 
you  to  assert  an  interest  in  me ;  but  why  should  you  as- 
sume that  I " 

"  You  said  so,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Wel-1     .     .     .     yes,  so  I  did." 

"  You  can  change  your  mind,  of  course." 

"  I  shan't,  honestly,  until  you  turn  stupid.  And  you 
can't  do  that  until  you  stop  having  strange  adventures. 
Will  you  tell  me  something?  " 

"  If  I  can." 

"  About  the  man  who  wouldn't  acknowledge  knowing 
you?  You  remember  saying  three  people  had  been  mis- 
taken about  your  identity  this  afternoon." 

"  No,  only  one — the  babu.      You're  not  mistaken 

"  I  knew  you  must  be  David  Amber  the  moment  I 
heard  you  speaking  Urdu." 

"  And  the  man  at  the  station  wasn't  mistaken — un- 


24  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

less  I  am.  He  knew  me  perfectly,  I  believe,  but  for  rea- 
sons of  his  own  refused  to  recognise  me." 

"  Yes—?  " 

"  He  was  an  English  servant  named  Doggott,  who 
is — or  once  was — a  valet  in  the  service  of  an  old  friend, 
a  man  named  Rutton." 

She  repeated  the  name :  "  Rutton  ?  It  seems  to  me 
I've  heard  of  him." 

"You  have?" 

"  I  don't  remember,"  she  confessed,  knitting  her  level 
brows.  "  The  name  has  a  familiar  ring,  somehow.  But 
about  the  valet  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  very  intimate  with  his  employer  for  a 
long  time,  though  we  haven't  met  for  several  years. 
Rutton  was  a  strange  creature,  a  man  of  extraordinary 
genius,  who  lived  a  friendless,  solitary  life — at  least,  so 
far  as  I  knew;  I  once  lived  with  him  in  a  little  place 
he  had  in  Paris,  for  three  months,  and  in  all  that  time 
he  never  received  a  letter  or  a  caller.  He  was  reticent 
about  himself,  and  I  never  asked  any  questions,  of 
course,  but  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  spoke  English 
like  an  Englishman  and  was  a  public  school  man,  ap- 
parently, I  always  believed  he  had  a  strain  of  Hun- 
garian blood  in  him — or  else  Italian  or  Spanish.  I 
know  that  sounds  pretty  broad,  but  he  was  enigmatic 
— a  riddle  I  never  managed  to  make  much  of.  Aside 
from  that  he  was  wonderful:  a  linguist,  speaking  a 
dozen  European  languages  and  more  Eastern  tongues 
and  dialects,  I  believe,  than  any  other  living  man.  We 
met  by  accident  in  Berlin  and  were  drawn  together  by 
our  common  interest  in  Orientalism.  Later,  hearing  I 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  25 

•was  in  Paris,  he  hunted  me  up  and  insisted  that  I  stay 
with  him  there  while  finishing  my  big  book — the  one 
whose  title  you  know.  His  assistance  to  me  then  was  in- 
valuable. After  that  I  lost  track  of  him." 

"And  the  valet?" 

"  Oh,  I'd  forgotten  Doggott.  He  was  a  Cockney,  as 
silent  and  self-contained  as  Rutton.  .  .  .  To  get 
back  to  Nokomis:  I  met  Doggott  at  the  station,  called 
him  by  name,  and  he  refused  to  admit  knowing  me — said 
I  must  have  mistaken  him  for  his  twin  brother.  I  could 
tell  by  his  eyes  that  he  lied,  and  it  made  me  wonder. 
It's  quite  impossible  that  Rutton  should  be  in  this  neck 
of  the  woods ;  he  was  a  man  who  preferred  to  live  a 
hermit  in  centres  of  civilisation.  .  .  .  Curious ! " 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  think  so.  Perhaps  the  man  had 
been  up  to  some  mischief.  .  .  .  But,"  said  the  girl 
with  a  note  of  regret,  "  we're  almost  home !  " 

They  had  come  to  the  seaward  verge  of  the  woodland, 
where  the  trees  and  scrub  rose  like  a  wild  hedgerow  on 
one  side  of  a  broad,  well-metalled  highway.  Before  them 
stretched  the  eighth  of  a  mile  of  neglected  land  knee- 
deep  with  crisp,  dry,  brown  stalks  of  weedy  growths, 
beyond  which  the  bay  smiled,  a  still  lake  of  colour  mir- 
roring the  intense  lapis-lazuli  of  the  calm  eastern  skies 
of  evening.  Over  across  its  waters  the  sand  dunes  of 
a  long  island  glowed  like  a  bar  of  new  red  gold,  tinted 
by  the  transient  scarlet  and  yellow  glory  of  the  smould- 
ering Autumnal  sunset.  Through  the  woods  the  level, 
brilliant,  warmthless  rays  ran  like  wild-fire,  turn- 
ing each  dead,  brilliant  leaf  to  a  wisp  of  incandescent 
flame,  and  tingeing  the  air  with  an  evanescent  ruby  ra- 


26  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

diance  against  which  the  slim  young  boles  stood  black 
and  stark. 

To  the  right,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  a  rustic 
fence  enclosed  the  trim,  well-groomed  plantations  of 
Tanglewood  Lodge;  through  the  dead  limbs  a  window 
of  the  house  winked  in  the  sunset  glow  like  an  eye  of 
garnet.  And  as  the  two  appeared  a  man  came  run- 
ning up  the  road,  shouting. 

"  That's  Quain ! "  cried  Amber ;  and  sent  a  long  cry 
of  greeting  toward  him. 

"  Wait !  "  said  the  girl  impulsively,  putting  out  a  de- 
taining hand.  "  Let's  keep  our  secret,"  she  begged, 
her  eyes  dancing — "  just  for  the  fun  of  it!  " 

"  Our  secret !  " 

"  About  the  babu  and  the  Token ;  it's  a  bit  of  mystery 
and  romance  to  me — and  we  don't  often  find  that  in  our 
lives,  do  we?  Let  us  keep  it  personal  for  a  while — be- 
tween ourselves ;  and  you  will  promise  to  let  me  know  if 
anything  unusual  ever  comes  of  it,  after  I've  gone.  We 
can  say  that  I  was  riding  carelessly,  which  is  quite  true, 
and  that  the  horse  shied  and  threw  me,  which  again  is 
true;  but  the  rest  for  ourselves  only.  .  .  .  Please. 
.  .  .  What  do  you  say?  " 

He  was  infected  by  her  spirit  of  irresponsible  mis- 
chief. "  Why,  yes — I  say  yes,"  he  replied ;  and  then, 
more  gravely :  "  I  think  it'll  be  very  pleasant  to  share 
a  secret  with  you,  Miss  Farrell.  I  shant  say  a  word 
to  any  one,  until  I  have  to." 

As  events  turned  he  had  no  need  to  mention  the  in- 
cident until  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day  following 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  TOKEN  27 

the  girl's  departure.  In  the  interim  nothing  happened, 
and  he  was  able  to  enjoy  some  excellent  shooting  with 
Quain,  his  thoughts  undisturbed  by  any  further  appear- 
ance of  the  babu. 

But  on  that  seventh  morning  it  became  evident  that 
a  burglary  had  been  visited  upon  the  home  of  his  hosts. 
A  window  had  been  forced  in  the  rear  of  the  house  and 
a  trail  of  burnt  matches  and  candle-grease  between  that 
entrance  and  the  door  of  Amber's  room,  together  with 
the  somewhat  curious  circumstance  that  nothing  what- 
ever was  missing  from  the  personal  effects  of  the  Quains, 
forced  him  to  make  an  explanation.  For  his  own  be- 
longings had  been  rifled  and  the  bronze  box  alone  ab- 
stracted— still  preserving  its  secret. 

In  its  place  Amber  found  a  soiled  slip  of  note-paper 
inscribed  with  the  round,  unformed  handwriting  of  the 
babu :  "  Pardon,  sahib.  A  mistake  has  been  made.  I 
seek  but  to  regain  that  which  is  not  yours  to  possess. 
There  will  be  naught  else  taken.  A  thousand  excuses 
from  your  hmbl.  obt.  svt.,  Behari  Lai  Chatterji." 


CHAPTER  III 

MAROONED 

A  CRY  in  the  windy  dusk;  a  sudden,  hollow  booming 
overhead ;  a  vision  of  countless  wings  in  panic,  sketched 
in  black  upon  a  background  of  dulled  silver ;  two  heavy 
detonations  and,  with  the  least  of  intervals,  a  third; 
three  vivid  flashes  of  crimson  and  gold  stabbing  the  pur- 
ple twilight ;  and  then  the  acrid  reek  of  smokeless  drift- 
ing into  Amber's  face,  while  from  the  sky,  where  the 
V-shaped  flock  had  been,  two  stricken  bundles  of  blood- 
stained feathers  fell  slowly,  fluttering.  .  .  . 

Honking  madly,  the  unscathed  brethren  of  the  slain 
wheeled  abruptly  and,  lashed  by  the  easterly  gale,  fled 
out  over  the  open  sea,  triangular  formation  dwindling 
rapidly  in  the  clouded  distances. 

Shot-gun  poised  abreast,  his  keen  eyes  marking  down 
the  fall  of  his  prey,  Amber  stood  without  moving,  ex- 
ultation battling  with  a  vague  remorse  in  his  bosom — 
as  always  when  he  killed.  Quain,  who  had  dropped  back 
a  pace  after  firing  but  one  shot  and  scoring  an  unqual- 
ified miss  at  close  range,  now  stood  plucking  clum- 
sily, with  half  frozen  fingers,  at  an  obstinate  breech- 
lock.  This  latter  resisting  his  every  wile,  his  temper 
presently  slipped  its  leash;  as  violently  as  briefly  he 
swore :  "  Damn !  " 


MAROONED  29 

"  Gladly,"  agreed  Amber,  without  turning.  "  But 
what?  " 

"  This  gun !  " 

"Your  gun?" 

"  Of  course."  There  were  elaborations  which  would 
not  lend  themselves  to  decorative  effect  upon  a  printed 
page. 

"  Then  damn  it  yourself,  Quain ;  I'm  sure  you  can 
do  it  ever  so  much  more  thoroughly  than  I.  But  what's 
the  matter?" 

"  Rim-jammed  cartridge,"  explained  Quain  between 
his  teeth.  The  lock  just  then  yielding  to  his  awkward 
manipulation,  stock  and  barrel  came  apart  in  his 
hands.  "  Just  my  beastly  luck !  "  he  added  gratuitously. 

"  It  wouldn't  've  been  me  if !  How  many  'd  you 

pot,  Davy?" 

"  Only  two,"  said  Amber,  lowering  his  weapon,  ex- 
tracting the  spent  shells,  and  reloading. 

"  Only  two!  "  The  information  roused  in  Quain  a 
demon  of  sarcasm.  Fumbling  in  his  various  pockets  for 
a  shell-extractor,  he  grunted  his  disgust.  "  Here,  lend 
us  your  thingumbob;  've  lost  mine.  Thanky.  .  .  . 
Only  two !  How  many  'd  you  expect  to  drop,  on  a  snap- 
shot like  that?  " 

"  Two,"  returned  Amber  so  patiently  that  Quain  re- 
quested him,  explosively,  to  go  to  the  devil.  "  If  you 
don't  mind,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  after  my  ducks  instead. 
You'll  follow?  They're  over  there,  on  our  way."  And 
accepting  Quain's  snort  for  an  affirmative  he  strolled 
off  in  the  direction  indicated,  hugging  his  gun  in  the 
crook  of  his  arm. 


30  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Fifty  yards  or  so  away  he  found  the  ducks,  side  by 
side  in  a  little  hollow.  "  Fine  fat  birds,"  he  adjudged 
them  sagely,  weighing  each  in  his  hand  ere  dropping 
it  into  his  lean  game-bag.  "  This  makes  up  for  a  lot 
of  cold  and  waiting." 

Satisfaction  glimmering  in  his  grave  dark  eyes,  he 
lingered  in  the  hollow,  while  the  frosty  air,  whipping 
madly  through  the  sand-hills,  stung  his  face  till  it 
glowed  beneath  the  brown.  But  presently,  like  the 
ghost  of  a  forgotten  kiss,  something  moist  and  chill 
touched  gently  his  cheek,  and  was  gone.  Startled,  he 
glanced  skywards,  then  extended  an  arm,  watching  it 
curiously  while  the  rough  fabric  of  his  sleeve  was  salted 
generously  with  fine  white  flakes.  Though  to  some  ex- 
tent apprehended  (they  had  been  blind  indeed  to  have 
ignored  the  menace  of  the  dour  day  just  then  dying) 
snow  had  figured  in  their  calculations  as  little  as  the 
scarcity  of  game.  Amber  wondered  dimly  if  it  would 
work  a  change  in  their  plans,  prove  an  obstacle  to  their 
safe  return  across  the  bay. 

The  flurry  thickening  in  the  air,  a  shade  of  anxiety 
colored  his  mood.  "  This  'U  never  do ! "  he  declared, 
and  set  himself  to  ascend  a  nearby  dune.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  slipped  and  slid  vainly,  the  dry  sand  treacher- 
ous to  his  feet,  the  brittle  grasses  he  clutched  snapping 
off  or  coming  away  altogether  with  their  roots ;  but  in 
time  he  found  himself  upon  the  rounded  summit,  and 
stood  erect,  straining  the  bitter  air  into  panting  lungs 
as  he  cast  about  for  bearings. 

Behind  him  a  meagre  strip  of  sand  held  back  a  grim 
and  angry  sea;  before  him  lay  an  eighth  of  a  mile  of 


MAROONED  31 

sand-locked  desolation,  and  then  the  weltering  bay — a 
wide  two  miles  of  leaping,  shouting  waves,  slate-col- 
oured but  white  of  crests.  Beyond,  seen  dimly  as  a 
wall  through  driving  sheets  of  snow,  were  the  darkly 
wooded  rises  of  the  mainland.  In  the  west,  to  his  left, 
the  blank,  impersonal  eye  of  the  light-house,  its  pillar 
invisible,  winked  red,  went  out,  and  flashed  up  white. 
Over  all,  beneath  a  low  and  lustreless  sky  as  flat  as  a 
plate,  violet  evening  shadows  were  closing  in  like  spec- 
tral skirts  of  the  imminent  night. 

But,  in  the  gloom,  their  little  cat-boat  lay  occult  to 
his  searching  gaze. 

Quain's  voice  recalling  him,  he  turned  to  discover 
his  host  stumbling  through  a  neighbouring  vale,  and 
obeying  a  peremptory  wave  of  the  elder  man's  hand, 
descended,  accompanied  by  an  avalanche  in  miniature. 

"  Better  hurry,"  shouted  Amber,  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  himself  heard  above  the  screaming  of  the  gale. 
"  Wind's  freshening ;  it  looks  like  mean  weather." 

"  Really?  "  Quain  fell  into  step  at  his  side.  "  You 
'stonish  me.  But  the  good  Lord  knows  I'm  willin'. 
Whereabout's  the  boat?  " 

"  Blessed  if  I  know :  over  yonder  somewhere,"  Amber 
told  him,  waving  toward  the  bay-shore  an  arm  as 
vaguely  helpful  as  his  information. 

"  Thank  you  so  much.  Guess  I  can  find  her  all 
right.  Hump  yo'self ,  Davy." 

They  plodded  on  heavily,  making  fair  progress  in 
spite  of  the  hindering  sand.  Nevertheless  it  had  grown 
sensibly  darker  ere  they  debouched  upon  the  frozen 
flats  that  bordered  the  bay;  and  now  the  wind  bore 


32  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

down  upon  them  in  full-winged  fury,  shrieking  in  their 
ears,  searing  their  eyes,  tearing  greedily  at  the  very 
breath  of  their  nostrils,  and  searching  out  with  impish 
ingenuity  the  more  penetrable  portions  of  their  clothing. 

For  a  moment  Quain  paused,  irresolute,  peering  right 
and  left,  then  began  to  trudge  eastwards,  heavy  boots 
crunching  the  thin  sedge-ice.  A  little  later  they  came 
to  the  water's  edge  and  proceeded  steadily  along  it, 
Quain  leading  confidently.  Eventually  he  tripped  over 
some  obstacle,  stumbled  and  lurched  forward  and  re- 
covered his  balance  with  an  effort,  then  remained  with 
bowed  head,  staring  down  at  his  feet. 

"  Hurt  yourself,  old  man  ?  " 

"  No !  "  snapped  Quain  rudely. 

"  Then  what  in " 

"  Eh?  "  Quain  roused,  but  an  instant  longer  looked 
him  blankly  in  the  eye.  "  Oh,"  he  added  brightly— 
"  oh,  she's  gone." 

"  The  boat ?  " 

"  The  boat,"  affirmed  Quain,  too  discouraged  for  the 
obvious  retort  ungracious.  He  stooped  and  caught  up 
a  frayed  end  of  rope,  exhibiting  it  in  witness  to  his 
statement.  "  Ain't  it  hell?  "  he  inquired  plaintively. 

Amber's  gaze  followed  the  rope,  the  further  end  of 
which  was  ro've  through  the  ring  of  a  small  grapnel 
anchor  half  buried  in  the  spongy  earth.  "  Gone !  "  he 
echoed  dismally. 

"  Gone  away  from  here,"  said  Quain  deliberately,  nod- 
ding at  the  rope's  end.  "  The  tide  floated  her  off,  of 
course ;  but  how  this  happened  is  beyond  me.  I  could  kill 
Antone."  He  named  the  Portuguese  labourer  charged 


MAROONED  33 

with  the  care  of  the  boats  at  Tanglewood.  "  It's  his 
job  to  see  that  these  cables  are  replaced  when  they  show 
signs  of  wear."  He  cast  the  rope  from  him  in  disdain 
and  wheeled  to  stare  baywards.  "  There ! "  he  cried, 
levelling  an  arm  to  indicate  a  dark  and  fleeting  shadow 
upon  the  storm-whipped  waters.  "  There  she  goes — not 
three  hundred  feet  off.  It  can't  be  five  minutes  since 
she  worked  loose.  I  don't  see  why  .  .  .  !  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  damned  cartridge  .  .  .  !  It's  the  devil's 
own  luck ! " 

A  blur  of  snow  swept  between  boat  and  shore;  when 
it  had  passed  the  former  was  all  but  indistinguishable. 
From  a  full  heart  Quain  blasphemed  fluently.  .  .  . 
"  But  if  she  holds  as  she  stands,"  he  amended  quickly, 
his  indominitable  spirit  fostering  the  forlorn  hope, 
"  she'll  go  aground  in  another  five  minutes — and  I  know 
just  where.  I'll  go  after  her." 

"  The  deuce  you  will !     How?  " 

"  There's  an  old  skimmy  up  the  shore  a  ways."  Al- 
ready Quain  was  moving  off  in  search  of  it.  "  Noticed 
her  this  morning.  Daresay  she  leaks  like  a  sieve,  but 
at  worst  the  water's  pretty  shoal  inshore,  hereabouts." 

"  Cold  comfort  in  that." 

"  Better  than  none,  you  amiable " 

"  Can  you  swim  ?  "  Amber  demanded  pointedly. 

"Like  a  fish.     And  you?" 

"  Not  like  a  fish." 

"  Damn !  "  Quain  brought  up  short  with  a  shin 
barked  against  a  thwart  of  the  rowboat  he  had  been 
seeking,  and  in  recognition  of  the  mishap  liberally  in- 
sulted his  luck. 


S4  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Amber,  knowing  that  his  hurt  was  as  inconsiderable 
as  his  ill-temper,  which  was  more  than  half -feigned  to 
mask  his  anxiety,  laughed  quietly,  meanwhile  inspect- 
ing their  find  with  a  critical  eye. 

"  You  don't  seriously  mean  to  put  off  in  this  crazy 
hen-coop,  do  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  precisely  that.     It's  the  only  way." 

"  It  simple  madness.    I  won't — 

"  You  don't  want  to  stay  here  all  night,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  but " 

"  Well,  then,  lend  us  a  hand  and  don't  stand  there 
grumbling.  Be  thankful  for  what  you've  got,  which 
is  me  and  my  enterprise." 

"  Oh,  all  right." 

Together  they  put  their  shoulders  to  the  bows  of  the 
old,  flat-bottomed  rowboat,  with  incredible  exertions 
uprooting  it  from  its  ancient  bed,  and  at  length  had 
it  afloat. 

Panting,  Quain  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  handker- 
chief much  the  worse  for  a  day's  association  with  gun- 
grease,  and  peered  beneath  his  hand  into  the  murk  that 
veiled  the  bay. 

"  There  she  is,"  he  declared  confidently :  "  aground." 
He  pointed.  "  I'll  fetch  up  with  her  in  no  time." 

But  Amber  could  see  nothing  in  the  least  resembling 
the  catboat,  and  said  so  with  decision. 

"She's  there,  all  right,"  insisted  Quain.  " 'Tain't 
my  fault  if  you're  blind.  Here,  hold  this,  will  you, 
while  I  find  me  a  pole  of  some  sort."  He  thrust  into 
Amber's  hand  an  end  of  rotten  painter  at  which  the 
rowboat  strained,  and  wandered  off  into  the  night,  in 


MAROONED  35 

the  course  of  time  returning  with  an  old  eel-pot  stake, 
flotsam  of  some  summer  storm.  "  Pure,  bull-headed 
luck!"  he  crowed,  jubilant,  brandishing  his  trophy; 
and  jumped  into  the  boat.  "  Now  sit  tight  till  I  come 
back?  .  .  .  Huh— what?" 

"  I'm  coming,  too,"  Amber  repeated  quietly. 

"  The  hell  you  are!  D'you  want  to  sink  us?  What 
do  you  think  this  is,  anyway — an  excursion  steamer? 
You  stay  where  you  are  and — I  say — take  care  of  this 
till  I  come  back,  like  a  good  fellow." 

He  thrust  the  butt  of  his  shot-gun  into  Amber's  face, 
and  the  latter,  seizing  it,  was  rewarded  by  a  vigorous 
push  that  sent  him  back  half  a  dozen  feet.  At  the  same 
time  the  painter  slipped  from  his  grasp  and  Quain, 
lodging  an  end  of  the  eel-pot  stake  on  the  hard  sand 
bottom,  put  his  weight  upon  it.  Before  Amber  could 
recover,  the  boat  had  slid  off  and  was  melting  swiftly 
into  the  shadows. 

After  a  bit  Quain's  voice  came  back :  "  Don't  fret, 
Davy.  I'm  all  right. 

Amber  cupped  hands  to  mouth  and  sent  a  cheerful 
hail  ringing  in  response.  Simultaneously  the  last,  least, 
indefinite  blur  that  stood  for  the  boat  in  the  darkness, 
vanished  in  a  swirl  of  snow ;  and  he  was  alone  with  the 
storm  and  his  misgivings.  Upon  these  he  put  a  check — 
would  not  dwell  upon  them ;  but  their  influence  none  the 
less  proved  strong  enough  to  breed  in  him  a  resistless 
restlessness  and  keep  him  tramping  up  and  down  a  five- 
yard  stretch  of  comparatively  solid  earth:  to  and  fro, 
stamping  his  feet  to  keep  his  blood  circulating,  lug- 
ging both  guns,  one  beneath  either  arm,  hunching  his 


36  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

shoulders  up  about  his  ears  in  thankless  attempt  to  pre- 
vent wet  flakes  from  sifting  in  between  his  neck  and  col- 
lar— thus,  interminably  it  seemed,  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro.  .  . 

In  the  course  of  time  this  occupation  defeated  its  pur- 
pose ;  the  very  monotony  of  it  sent  his  thoughts  winging 
back  to  Quain ;  he  worried  more  than  ever  for  his  friend, 
reproaching  himself  unmercifully  for  that  he  had  suf- 
fered him  to  go  alone — or  at  all.  Quain  had  a  wife 
and  children;  that  thought  proved  insupportable. 
.  .  .  Had  he  missed  the  catboat  altogether?  Or  had 
he  gained  it  only  to  find  the  motor  disabled  or  the  pro- 
peller fouled  with  the  wiry  eel-grass  that  choked  the 
shoals?  In  either  instance  he  would  be  at  the  mercy  of 
the  wind,  for  even  with  the  sail  close-reefed  he  would 
have  no  choice  other  than  to  fly  before  the  fury.  Or 
had  the  boat  possibly  gone  aground  so  hard  and  fast 
that  Quain  had  found  himself  unable  to  push  her  off  and 
doomed  to  lie  in  her,  helpless,  against  the  fulling  of  the 
tide?  Or  (last  and  most  grudged  guess  of  all)  had  the 
"  skimmy  "  proved  as  unseaworthy  as  its  dilapidated 
appearance  had  proclaimed  it? 

Twenty  minutes  wore  wearily  away.  Falling  ever 
more  densely,  the  snow  drew  an  impenetrable  wan  cur- 
tain between  Amber  and  the  world  of  life  and  light  and 
warmth;  while  with  each  discordant  blast  the  strength 
of  the  gale  seemed  to  wax,  its  high  hysteric  clamour  at 
times  drowning  even  the  incessant  deep  bellow  of  the 
ocean  surf.  Once  Amber  paused  in  his  patrol,  having 
heard,  or  fancying  he  had  heard,  the  staccato  plut-plut- 
plut  of  a  marine  motor.  On  impulse,  with  a  swelling 


MAROONED  37 

heart,  he  swung  his  gun  skywards  and  pulled  both  trig- 
gers. The  double  report  rang  in  his  ears  loud  as  a 
thunderclap. 

In  the  moments  that  followed,  while  he  stood  listen- 
ing, with  every  fibre  of  his  being  keyed  to  attention,  the 
sense  of  his  utter  isolation  chilled  his  heart  as  with  cold 
steel. 

A  little  frantically  he  loaded  and  fired  again;  but 
what  at  first  might  have  been  thought  the  faint  far  echo 
of  a  hail  he  in  the  end  set  down  reluctantly  to  a  trick 
of  the  hag-ridden  wind ;  to  whose  savage  voice  he  durst 
not  listen  long ;  in  such  a  storm,  on  such  a  night,  a  man 
had  but  to  hearken  with  a  credulous  ear  to  hear  strange 
and  terrible  voices  whispering,  shrieking,  gibbering, 
howling  untold  horrors.  .  .  . 

An  hour  passed,  punctuated  at  frequent  intervals  by 
gunshots.  Though  they  evoked  no  answer  of  any  sort, 
hope  for  Quain  died  hard  in  Amber's  heart.  With  all 
his  might  he  laboured  to  convince  himself  that  his  friend 
must  have  overtaken  the  drifting  boat,  and,  forced  to 
relinquish  his  efforts  to  regain  the  beach,  have  scudded 
across  the  bay  to  the  mainland  and  safety;  but  this 
seemed  a  surmise  at  best  so  far-fetched,  and  one  as  well 
not  overlong  to  be  dwelt  upon,  lest  by  that  very  insist- 
ence its  tenuity  be  emphasised,  that  Amber  resolutely 
turned  from  it  to  a  consideration  of  his  own  plight  and 
problematic  way  of  escape. 

His  understanding  of  his  situation  was  painfully  ac- 
curate: he  was  marooned  upon  what  a  flood  tide  made 
a  desert  island  but  which  at  the  ebb  was  a  peninsula — a 
long  and  narrow  strip  of  sand,  bounded  on  the  west  by 


38  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  broad,  shallow  channel  to  the  ocean,  on  the  east 
connected  with  the  mainland  by  a  sandbar  which  half 
the  day  lay  submerged. 

He  had,  then,  these  alternatives :  he  might  either  com- 
pose himself  to  hug  the  leeward  side  of  a  dune  till  day- 
break (or  till  relief  should  come)  or  else  undertake  a 
five-mile  tramp  on  the  desperate  hope  of  finding  at  the 
end  of  it  the  tide  out  and  the  sandbar  a  safe  footway 
from  shore  to  shore.  Between  the  two  he  vacillated  not 
at  all ;  anything  were  preferable  to  a  night  in  the  dunes, 
beaten  by  the  implacable  storm,  haunted  by  the  thought 
of  Quain;  and  even  though  he  were  to  find  the  eastern 
causeway  under  water,  at  least  the  exercise  would  have 
served  to  keep  him  from  freezing. 

Ten  minutes  after  his  last  cartridge  had  been  fruit- 
lessly discharged,  he  set  out  for  the  ocean  beach,  paus- 
ing at  the  first  dune  he  came  upon  to  scrape  a  shallow 
trench  in  the  sand  and  cache  therein  both  guns  and  his 
game-bag.  Marking  the  spot  with  a  bit  of  driftwood 
stuck  upright,  he  pressed  on,  eventually  pausing  on  the 
overhanging  lip  of  a  twenty-foot  bluff.  To  its  foot  the 
beach  below  was  aswirl  knee-deep  with  the  wash  of 
breakers,  broad  patches  of  water  black  and  glossy  as 
polished  ebony  alternating  with  vast  expanses  of  foam 
and  clotted  spume,  all  aglow  with  pale  winter  phos- 
porescence.  Momentarily,  as  he  watched,  at  once  fas- 
cinated and  appalled,  mountainous  ridges  of  blackness 
heaved  up  out  of  the  storm's  grey  heart,  offshore,  and, 
curling  crests  edged  with  luminous  white,  swung  in  to 
crash  and  shatter  thunderously  upon  the  sands. 

Awed  and  disappointed,  Amber  drew  back.  The  beach 


MAROONED  89 

was  impassable;  here  was  no  wide  and  easy  road  to  the 
east,  such  as  he  had  thought  to  find ;  to  gain  the  sand- 
bar he  had  now  to  thread  a  tortuous  and  uncertain  way 
through  the  bewildering  dunes.  And  the  prospect  was 
not  a  little  disconcerting ;  afraid  neither  of  wind  nor  of 
cold,  he  was  wretchedly  afraid  of  going  astray  in  that 
uncertain,  shifting  labyrinth.  To  lose  oneself  in  that 
trackless  wilderness.  .  .  ! 

A  demon  of  anxiety  prodded  him  on:  he  must  learn 
Quain's  fate,  or  go  mad.  Once  on  the  mainland  it  were 
a  matter  of  facility  to  find  his  way  to  the  village  of 
Shampton,  telephone  Tanglewood  and  charter  a 
"  team  "  to  convey  him  thither.  He  shut  his  teeth  on 
his  determination  and  set  his  face  to  the  east. 

Beset  and  roughly  buffeted  by  the  gale ;  the  snow  set- 
tling in  rippling  drifts  in  the  folds  of  his  clothing  and 
upon  his  shoulders  clinging  like  a  cloth ;  his  face  cut  by 
clouds  of  sand  flung  horizontally  with  well-nigh  the 
force  of  birdshot  from  a  gun :  he  bowed  to  the  blast  and 
plodded  steadily  on. 

Imperceptibly  fatigue  benumbed  his  senses,  blunted 
the  keen  edge  of  his  emotions;  even  the  care  for  Quain 
became  a  mere  dull  ache  in  the  back  of  his  perceptions ; 
of  physical  suffering  he  was  unconscious.  He  fell  a  prey 
to  freakish  fancies — could  stand  aside  and  watch  him- 
self, an  atom  whirling  in  the  mad  dance  of  the  tempest, 
as  the  snow-flakes  whirled,  as  little  potent.  He  saw  him- 
self pitting  his  puny  strength  of  mind  and  body  against 
the  infinite  force  of  the  elements:  saw  himself  fall  and 
rise  and  battle  on,  gaining  nothing:  an  atom,  sport  of 
high  gods !  To  the  flight  of  time  he  grew  quite  oblivi- 


40  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ous,  his  thoughts  wandering  in  the  past,  oddly  afar  to 
half-remembered  scenes,  to  experiences  more  than  half- 
forgotten,  both  wholly  irrelevant ;  picturesque  and  pain- 
ful memories  cast  up  from  the  deeps  of  the  subcon- 
sciousness  by  some  inexplicable  convulsion  of  the  imag- 
ination. For  a  long  time  he  moved  on  in  stupid,  won- 
dering contemplation  of  a  shining  crescent  of  sand 
backed  by  a  green,  steaming  wall  of  jungle;  there  was 
a  dense  blue  sky  above,  and  below,  on  the  beach,  dense 
blue  waters  curled  lazily  up  the  feet  of  a  little,  naked, 
brown  child  that  played  contentedly  with  a  shell  of  rain- 
bow hues.  Again  he  saw  a  throng  upon  a  pier-head,  and 
in  its  forefront  an  unknown  woman,  plainly  dressed, 
with  deep  brown  eyes  wherein  Despair  dwelt,  tearless 
but  white  to  the  lips  as  she  watched  a  steamer  draw 
away.  And  yet  again,  he  seemed  to  stand  with  others 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  cardroom  of  a  Hong-Kong 
club:  in  a  glare  of  garish  light  a  man  in  evening  dress 
lay  prone  across  a  table  on  whose  absorbent,  green  cloth 
a  dark  and  ugly  stain  was  widening  slowly.  .  .  .  But 
for  the  most  part  he  fancied  himself  walking  through 
scented,  autumnal  woods,  beside  a  woman  whose  eyes 
were  kind  and  dear,  whose  lips  were  sweet  and  tempt- 
ing: a  girl  he  had  known  not  an  hour  but  whom  already 
he  loved,  though  he  himself  did  not  dream  it  nor  dis- 
cover it  till  too  late.  .  .  .  And  with  these  many  other 
visions  formed  and  dissolved  in  dream-like  phantasma- 
goria ;  but  of  them  all  the  strongest  and  most  recurrent 
was  that  of  the  girl  in  the  black  riding-habit,  walking 
by  his  side  down  the  aisle  of  trees.  So  that  presently 
the  tired  and  overwrought  man  believed  himself  talking 


MAROONED  41 

with  her,  reasoning,  arguing,  pleading  desperately  for 
his  heart's  desire;  .  .  .  and  wakened  with  a  start,, 
to  hear  the  echo  of  her  voice  as  though  she  had  spoken 
but  the  instant  gone,  to  find  his  own  lips  framing  the 
syllables  of  her  name — "  Sophia !  " 

Thus  strangely  he  came  to  know  that  beyond  question 
he  loved.  And  he  stopped  short  and  stood  blinking 
blindly  at  nothing,  a  little  frightened  by  the  depth  and 
strength  of  this  passion  which  had  come  to  him  with 
such  scant  presage,  realising  for  the  first  time  that  his 
need  for  her  was  an  insatiable  hunger  of  the  soul. 
.  .  .  And  she  was  lost  to  him;  half  a  world  lay  be- 
tween them — or  soon  would.  All  his  days  he  had 
awaited,  a  little  curiously,  a  little  sceptical,  the  coming 
of  the  thing  men  call  Love;  and  when  it  had  come  to 
him  he  had  not  known  it  nor  guessed  it  until  its  cause 
had  slipped  away  from  him.  .  .  .  Beyond  recall? 

Abruptly  he  regained  consciousness  of  his  plight,  and 
with  an  effort  shook  his  senses  back  into  his  head.  It 
was  not  precisely  a  time  when  he  could  afford  to  let  his 
wits  go  wool-gathering.  And  he  realised  that  he  had 
been,  in  a  way,  more  than  half -asleep  as  he  walked; 
even  now  he  was  drowsy,  his  eyes  were  heavy,  his 
feet  leaden — and  numb  with  cold  besides.  He  had 
no  least  notion  of  what  distance  he  might  have  trav- 
elled or  whether  he  had  walked  in  a  straight  line  or  a 
circle ;  but  when  he  thought  to  glance  over  his  shoulder 
— there  was  at  the  moment  perhaps  more  wind  with  less 
snow  than  there  had  been  for  some  time — he  found  the 
lighthouse  watching  him  as  it  had  from  the  first :  as  if 
he  had  not  won  a  step  away  from  it  for  all  his  strug- 


42  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

gle  and  his  pains.  The  white,  staring  eye  winked  sar- 
donically through  a  mist  of  flakes,  was  blotted  out  and 
turned  up  a  baleful  red.  It  seemed  to  mock  him,  but 
Amber  nodded  at  it  with  no  unfriendly  feeling.  It  still 
might  serve  his  purpose  very  well,  if  his  strength  held, 
since  he  had  merely  to  keep  his  back  to  the  light  and 
the  ocean  beach  upon  his  right  to  win  to  the  Shampton 
sandbar,  whether  soon  or  late. 

Inflexible  of  purpose  in  the  face  of  all  his  weariness 
and  discouragement,  he  was  on  the  point  of  resuming 
his  march  when  he  was  struck  by  the  circumstance  that 
the  whitened  shoulder  of  a  dune,  quite  near  at  hand, 
should  seem  as  if  frosted  with  light — coldly  luminous. 

Staring,  speculative,  he  hung  in  the  wind — inquisi- 
tive as  a  cat  but  loath  to  waste  time  in  footless  inquiry. 
The  snow-fall,  setting  in  with  augmented  violence,  de- 
cided him.  Where  light  was,  there  should  be  man,  and 
where  man,  shelter. 

His  third  eager  stride  opened  up  a  wide  basin  in  the 
dunes,  filled  with  eddying  veils  of  snow,  and  set,  at  some 
distance,  with  two  brilliant  squares  of  light — windows 
in  an  invisible  dwelling.  In  the  space  between  them, 
doubtless,  there  would  be  a  door.  But  a  second  time  he 
paused,  remembering  that  the  island  was  said  to  be  un- 
inhabited. Only  yesterday  he  had  asked  and  been  so 
informed.  .  .  .  Odd! 

So  passing  strange  he  held  it,  indeed,  that  he  was 
conscious  of  a  singular  reluctance  to  question  the  phe- 
nomenon. That  superstitious  dread  of  the  unknown 
which  lies  dormant  in  us  all,  in  Amber  stirred  and  awoke 
and  held  him  back  like  a  strong  hand.  Or,  if  there  be 


MAROONED  4S 

such  a  thing  as  a  premonition  of  misfortune,  he  may 
be  said  to  have  experienced  it  in  that  hour;  certainly  a 
presentiment  of  evil  crawled  in  his  brain,  and  he  hesi- 
tated at  a  time  when  he  desired  naught  in  the  world  so 
much  as  that  which  the  windows  promised — light,  heat 
and  human  companionship.  He  had  positively  to  force 
himself  on  to  seek  the  door,  and  even  when  he  had 
stumbled  against  its  step  he  twice  lifted  his  hand  and  let 
it  fall  without  knocking. 

There  was  not  a  sound  within  that  he  could  hear  above 
the  clamour  of  the  goblin  night. 

In  the  end,  however,  he  knocked  stoutly  enough. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MAN    PERDU 

A  SHADOW  swept  swiftly  across  one  of  the  windows, 
and  the  stranger  at  the  door  was  aware  of  a  slight  jar- 
ring, as  though  some  more  than  ordinarily  brutal  gust 
of  wind  had  shaken  the  house  upon  its  foundation,  or  an 
inner  door  had  been  slammed  violently.  But  otherwise 
he  had  so  little  evidence  that  his  summons  had  fallen  on 
aught  but  empty  walls  or  deaf  ears  that  he  had  begun 
to  debate  his  right  to  enter  without  permission,  when  a 
chain  rattled,  a  bolt  grated,  and  the  door  swung  wide. 
A  flood  of  radiance  together  with  a  gust  of  heated  air 
struck  him  in  the  face.  Dazzled,  he  reeled  across  the 
threshold. 

The  door  banged,  and  again  the  house  in  the  dunes 
shuddered  as  the  storm  fell  upon  it  with  momentarily 
trebled  ferocity ;  as  if,  cheated  of  its  foreordained 
prey,  it  would  rend  apart  his  frail  refuge  to  regain 
him. 

Three  paces  within  the  room  Amber  paused,  waiting 
for  his  eyes  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  light.  Vaguely 
conscious  of  a  presence  behind  him,  he  faced  another — 
the  slight,  spare  silhouette  of  a  man's  figure  between 
him  and  the  lamp ;  and  at  the  same  time  felt  that  he  was 
being  subjected  to  a  close  scrutiny — both  searching 
and,  at  its  outset,  the  reverse  of  hospitable.  But  he 
had  no  more  than  become  sensitive  to  this  than  the  man 

44 


THE  MAN  PERDU  45 

before  him  stepped  quickly  forward  and  with  two  strong 
hands  clasped  his  shoulders. 

"  David  Amber !  "  he  heard  his  name  pronounced  in 
a  voice  singularly  resonant  and  pleasant.  "  So  you've 
run  me  to  earth  at  last ! " 

Amber's  face  was  blank  with  incredulity  as  he  recog- 
nised the  speaker.  "  Rutton !  "  he  stammered.  "  Rut- 
ton — why — by  all  that's  strange !  " 

"  Guilty,"  said  the  other  with  a  quiet  laugh.  "  But 
sit  down."  He  swung  Amber  about,  gently  guiding  him 
to  a  chair.  "  You  look  pretty  well  done  up.  How  long 
have  you  been  out  in  this  infernal  night?  But  never 
mind  answering ;  I  can  wait.  Doggott !  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Take  Mr.  Amber's  coat  and  boots  and  bring  him 
my  dressing-gown  and  slippers." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  a  hot  toddy  and  something  to  eat — and  be 
quick  about  it." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

Rutton's  body-servant  moved  noiselessly  to  Amber's 
side,  deftly  helping  him  remove  his  shooting-jacket, 
whereon  snow  had  caked  in  thin  and  brittle  sheets.  His 
eyes,  grey  and  shallow,  flickered  recognition  and  soft- 
ened, but  he  did  not  speak  in  anticipation  of  Amber's 
kindly  "  Good-evening,  Doggott."  To  which  he  re- 
sponded quietly :  "  Good-evening,  Mr.  Amber.  It's 
a  pleasure  to  see  you  again.  I  trust  you  are 
well." 

"  Quite,  thank  you.    And  you?  " 

"  I'm  very  fit,  thank  you  sir." 


46  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  And  " — Amber  sat  down  again,  Doggott  kneeling 
at  his  feet  to  unlace  and  remove  his  heavy  pigskin  hunt- 
ing-boots— "  and  your  brother?  " 

For  a  moment  the  man  did  not  answer.  His  head 
was  lowered  so  that  his  features  were  invisible,  but  a 
dull,  warm  flush  overspread  his  cheeks. 

"  And  your  brother,  Doggott?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  about  that ;  but  it  was  Mr.  Button's 
order,"  muttered  the  man. 

"  You're  talking  of  the  day  you  met  Doggott  at 
Nokomis  station  ?  "  interposed  his  employer  from  the 
stand  he  had  taken  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  his  back 
to  the  broad  hearth  whereon  blazed  a  grateful  drift- 
wood fire. 

Amber  looked  up  inquiringly,  nodding  an  unspoken 
affirmative. 

"  It  was  my  fault  that  he — er — prevaricated,  I'm 
afraid ;  as  he  says,  it  was  by  my  order." 

Button's  expression  was  masked  by  the  shadows ; 
Amber  could  make  nothing  of  his  curious  reticence,  and 
remained  silent,  waiting  a  further  explanation.  It 
came,  presently,  with  an  effect  of  embarrassment. 

"  I  had — have  peculiar  reasons  for  not  wishing  my 
refuge  here  to  be  discovered.  I  told  Doggott  to  be  care- 
ful, should  he  meet  any  one  we  knew.  Although,  of 
course,  neither  of  us  anticipated  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  think  Doggott  was  any  more  dumfounded 
than  I,"  said  Amber.  "  I  couldn't  believe  he'd  left  you, 
yet  it  seemed  impossible  that  you  should  be  here — of  all 
places — in  the  neighbourhood  of  Nokomis,  I  mean.  As 
for  that "  Amber  shook  his  head  expressively,  glanc- 


THE  MAN  PERDU  47 

ing  round  the  mean  room  in  which  he  had  found  this 
man  of  such  extraordinary  qualities.  "  It's  altogether 
inconceivable,"  he  summed  up  his  bewilderment. 

"  It  does  seem  so — even  to  me,  at  times." 

"  Then  why — in  Heaven's  name ' 

By  now  Doggott  had  invested  Amber  in  his  master's 
dressing-gown  and  slippers ;  rising  he  left  them,  pass- 
ing out  through  an  inner  door  which  led,  evidently,  to 
the  only  other  room  in  the  cottage.  Rutton  delayed  his 
reply  until  the  man  had  shut  the  door  behind  him,  then 
suddenly,  with  the  manner  of  one  yielding  to  the  inevi- 
table, drew  a  chair  up  to  face  Amber's  and  dropped 
into  it. 

"  I  see  I  must  tell  you  something — a  little ;  as  little 
as  I  can  help — of  the  truth." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  must ;  though  I'm  damned  if  I  can 
detect  a  glimmer  of  either  rhyme  or  reason  in  this  pre- 
posterous situation." 

Rutton  laughed  quietly,  lounging  in  his  armchair 
and  lacing  before  him  the  fingers  of  hands  singularly 
small  and  delicate  in  view  of  their  very  considerable 
strength — to  which  Amber's  shoulder  still  bore  aching 
testimony. 

"  In  three  words,"  he  said  deliberately :  "  I  am 
hiding." 

"Hiding!" 

"  Obviously." 

Amber  bent  forward,  studying  the  elder  man's  face 
intently.  Thin  and  dark^not  tanned  like  Amber's, 
but  with  a  native  darkness  of  skin  like  that  of  the  Span- 
ish— it  was  strongly  marked,  its  features  at  once  promi- 


48  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

nent  and  finely  modelled.  The  hair  intensely  black,  the 
«yes  as  dark  and  of  peculiar  fire,  the  lips  broad,  full, 
and  sympathetic,  the  cheekbones  high,  the  forehead  high 
and  something  narrow:  these  combined  to  form  a 
strangely  striking  ensemble,  and  none  the  less  striking 
for  its  weird  resemblance  to  Amber's  own  cast  of  coun- 
tenance. 

Indeed,  their  likeness  one  to  the  other  was  nothing 
less  than  weird  in  that  it  could  be  so  superficially  strong, 
yet  so  elusive.  No  two  men  were  ever  more  unalike  than 
these  save  in  this  superficial  accident  of  facial  contours 
and  complexion.  No  one  knowing  Amber  (let  us  say) 
could  ever  have  mistaken  him  for  Rutton ;  and  yet  any 
one,  strange  to  both,  armed  with  a  description  of  Rut- 
ton,  might  pardonably  have  believed  Amber  to  be  his 
man.  Yet  manifestly  they  were  products  of  alien  races, 
even  of  different  climes — their  individualities  as  dissim- 
ilar as  the  poles.  Where  in  Rutton's  bearing  burned 
an  inextinguishable,  almost  an  insolent  pride,  beneath 
an  ice-like  surface  of  self -constraint,  in  Amber's  one 
detected  merely  quiet  consciousness  of  strength  and 
breeding — his  inalienable  heritage  from  many  genera- 
tions of  Anglo-Saxon  forebears ;  and  while  Rutton  con- 
tinually betrayed,  by  look  or  tone  or  gesture,  a  birth- 
right of  fierce  passions  savagely  tamed,  from  Amber 
one  seldom  obtained  a  hint  of  aught  but  the  broad  and 
humourous  tolerance  of  an  American  gentleman. 

But  to-night  the  Virginian  had  undergone  enough 
to  have  lost  much  of  his  habitual  poise.  "  Hid- 
ing ! "  he  reiterated  in  a  tone  scarcely  louder  than  a 
whisper. 


THE  MAN  PERDU  49 

"  And  you  have  found  me  out,  my  friend." 

"  But— but  I  don't " 

Rutton  lifted  a  hand  in  deprecation;  and  as  he  did 
so  the  door  in  the  rear  of  the  room  opened  and  Doggott 
entered.  Cat-like,  passing  behind  Amber,  he  placed 
upon  the  table  a  small  tray,  and  from  a  steaming 
pitcher  poured  him  a  glass  of  hot  spiced  wine.  At  a 
look  from  his  employer  he  filled  a  second. 

"  There's  sandwiches,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  the  best  I  could 
manage  at  short  notice,  Mr.  Amber.  If  you'll  wait  a 
bit  I  can  fix  you  up  something  'ot." 

"  Thank  you,  Doggott,  that  won't  be  necessary ;  the 
sandwiches  look  mighty  good  to  me." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  Will  there  be  anything  else,  Mr. 
Rutton?" 

"  If  there  is,  I'll  call  you." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Good-night,  sir.  Good-night,  Mr. 
Amber." 

As  Doggott  shut  himself  out  of  the  room,  Amber 
lifted  his  fragrant  glass.  "  You're  joining  me,  Rut- 
ton?" 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  The  man  came  forward  to 
his  glass.  "  For  old  sake's  sake,  David.  Shall  we  drink 
a  toast  ?  "  He  hesitated,  with  a  marked  air  of  em- 
barrassment, then  impulsively  swung  his  glass  aldft. 
"  Drink  standing !  "  he  cried,  he  voice  oddly  vibrant. 
And  Amber  rose.  "  To  the  King — the  King,  God  bless 
him!" 

"  To  the  King ! "  It  was  more  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  than  an  echo  to  the  toast;  nevertheless  Amber 
drained  his  drink  to  the  final  drop.  As  he  resumed  his 


50  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

seat,  the  room  rang  with  the  crash  of  splintering  glass  • 
Rutton  had  dashed  his  tumbler  to  atoms  on  the  hearth- 
stone. 

"  Well !  "  commented  Amber,  lif ting  his  brows  ques- 
tioningly.  "  You  are  sincere,  Rutton.  But  who  in 
blazes  would  ever  have  suspected  you  of  being  a  British 
subject?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  I  should  have  known " 

"  What  have  you  ever  really  known  about  me,  David, 
save  that  I  am  myself?  " 

"  Well — when  you  put  it  that  way — little  enough — 
nothing."  Amber  laughed  nervously,  disconcerted. 

"  And  I  ?  Who  and  what  am  I  ?  "  No  answer  was  ex- 
pected— so  much  was  plain  from  Rutton's  tone ;  he  was 
talking  to  himself  more  than  addressing  his  guest.  His 
long  brown  fingers  strayed  to  the  box  and  conveyed  a 
cigarette  to  his  lips ;  staring  dreamily  into  the  fire,  he 
smoked  a  little  ere  continuing.  "  What  does  it  mean, 
this  eternal  *  I '  round  which  the  world  revolves  ?  "  His 
voice  trailed  off  into  silence. 

Amber  snapped  the  tension  with  a  chuckle.  "  You 
can  search  me,"  he  said  irreverently.  And  his  host  re- 
turned his  smile.  "  Now,  will  you  please  pay  attention 
to  me,  my  friend  ?  Or  do  you  wish  me  to  turn  and  rend 
myself  with  curiosity — after  I've  attended  to  these  ex- 
cellent sandwiches?  .  .  .  Seriously,  I  want  to  know 
several  things.  What  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self these  past  three  years  ?  " 

Rutton  shook  his  head  gravely.    "  I  can't  say." 

"  You  mean  you  won't?  " 


THE  MAN  PERDU  51 

"  If  you  will  have  it  that  way." 

"  Well    ...    I  give  you  up." 

"  That's  the  most  profitable  thing  you  could  do, 
David." 

"  But,  seriously  now,  this  foolish  talk  about  hiding  is 
all  a  joke,  isn't  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rutton  soberly;  "  no,  it's  no  joke."  He 
sighed  profoundly.  "  As  for  my  recent  whereabouts,  I 
have  been — ah — travelling  considerably ;  moving  about 
from  pillar  to  post."  To  this  the  man  added  a  single 
word,  the  more  significant  in  that  it  embodied  the  near- 
est approach  to  a  confidence  that  Amber  had  ever  known 
him  to  make :  "  Hunted." 

"Hunted  by  whom?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon."  Rutton  bent  forward  and 
pushed  the  cigarettes  to  Amber's  elbow.  "  I  am — 
ah — so  preoccupied  with  my  own  mean  troubles,  David, 
that  I  had  forgotten  that  you  had  nothing  to  smoke. 
Forgive  me." 

"  That's  no  matter,  I " 

Amber  cut  short  his  impatient  catechism  in  deference 
to  the  other's  mute  plea.  And  Rutton  thanked  him  with 
a  glance — one  of  those  looks  which,  between  friends,  are 
more  eloquent  than  words.  Sighing,  he  shook  his  head, 
his  eyes  once  more  seeking  the  flames.  And  silently 
studying  his  face — the  play  of  light  from  lamp  and 
hearth  throwing  its  features  into  salient  relief — for  the 
first  time  Amber,  his  wits  warmed  back  to  activity  from 
the  stupor  the  bitter  cold  had  put  upon  them,  noticed 
how  time  and  care  had  worn  upon  the  man  since  they  had 
last  parted.  He  had  never  suspected  Rutton  to  be  his 


52  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

senior  by  more  years  than  ten,  at  the  most ;  to-night, 
however,  he  might  well  be  taken  for  fifty  were  his  age 
to  be  reckoned  by  its  accepted  signs — the  hollowing  of 
cheek  and  temple,  the  sinking  of  eyes  into  their  sockets, 
the  deepening  of  the  maze  of  lines  about  the  mouth  and 
on  the  forehead. 

Impulsively  the  younger  man  sat  up  and  put  a  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  Rutton's  chair.  "  What  can  I  do  ?  " 
he  asked  simply. 

Rutton  roused,  returning  his  regard  with  a  smile 
slow,  charming,  infinitely  sad.  "  Nothing,"  he  replied ; 
"  absolutely  nothing." 

"  But  surely !  " 

"  No  man  can  do  for  me  what  I  cannot  do  for  my- 
self. When  the  time  comes  " — he  lifted  his  shoulders 
lightly—"  I  will  do  what  I  can.  Till  then  .  .  ."  He 
diverged  at  a  tangent.  "  After  all,  the  world  is  quite 
as  tiny  as  the  worn-out  aphorism  has  it.  To  think  that 
you  should  find  me  here!  It's  less  than  a  week  since 
Doggott  and  I  hit  upon  this  place  and  settled  down, 
quite  convinced  we  had,  at  last,  lost  ourselves  .  .  . 
and  might  have  peace,  for  a  little  space  at  least !  " 

Amber  glanced  curiously  round  the  room ;  sparely 
furnished,  bare,  unlovely,  it  seemed  a  most  cheerless  sort 
of  spot  to  be  considered  a  haven  of  peace. 

"  And  now,"  concluded  Rutton,  "  we  have  to  move 
on." 

"  Because  I've  found  you  here  ?  " 

"  Because  you  have  found  me." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  never  meant  you  should." 


THE  MAN  PERDU  53 


"  But  if  you're  in  any  danger 

"  I  am  not." 

"  You're  not!    But  you  just  said- 


"  I'm  in  no  danger  whatever ;  humanity  is,  if  I'm 
found." 

"  I  don't  follow  you  at  all." 

Again  Rutton  smiled  wearily.  "  I  didn't  expect  you 
to,  David.  But  this  misadventure  makes  it  necessary 
that  I  should  tell  you  something;  you  must  be  made  to 
believe  in  me.  I  beg  you  to ;  I'm  neither  mad  nor  mak- 
ing game  of  you."  There  was  no  questioning  the  sane 
sincerity  of  the  man.  He  continued  slowly.  "  It's  a 
simple  fact,  incredible  but  absolute,  that,  were  my 
whereabouts  to  be  made  public,  a  great,  a  staggering 
blow  would  be  struck  against  the  peace  and  security 
of  the  world.  .  .  .  Don't  laugh,  David;  I  mean 
it." 

"  I'm  not  laughing,  Rutton ;  but  you  must  know 
that's  a  pretty  large  order.  Most  men  would " 

"  Call  me  mad.  Yes,  I  know,"  Rutton  took  up  his 
words  as  Amber  paused,  confused.  "  I  can't  expect  you 
to  understand  me :  you  couldn't  unless  I  were  to  tell  you 
what  I  may  not.  But  you  know  me — better,  perhaps, 
than  any  living  man  save  Doggott  .  .  .  and  one 
other.  You  know  whether  or  not  I  would  seek  to  delude 
you,  David.  And,  knowing  that  I  could  not,  you  know 
why  it  seems  to  me  imperative  that,  this  hole  being  dis- 
covered, Doggott  and  I  must  betake  ourselves  elsewhere. 

i  Surely  there  must  be  solitudes !  "  He  rose  with  a 

gesture  of  impatience  and  began  restlessly  to  move  to 
and  fro. 


54  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Amber     started     suddenly,     flushing.        "  If     you 


mean 

Button's  kindly  hand  forced  him  back  into  his  chair. 
"  Sit  down,  David.  I  never  meant  that — never  for  an 
instant  dreamed  you'd  intentionally  betray  my  secret. 
It's  enough  that  you  should  know  it,  should  occasionally 
think  of  me  as  being  here,  to  bring  misfortune  down 
upon  me,  to  work  an  incalculable  disaster  to  the  progress 
of  this  civilisation  of  ours." 

"  You  mean,"  Amber  asked  uncertainly,  "  thought 
transference?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort — yes."  The  man  came  to  a 
pause  beside  Amber,  looking  down  almost  pitifully  into 
his  face.  "  I  daresay  all  this  sounds  hopelessly  melo- 
dramatic and  neurotic  and  tommyrotic,  David,  but 
...  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more.  I'm  sorry." 

"  But  only  let  me  help  you — any  way  in  my  power, 
Button.  There's  nothing  I'd  not  do  .  .  ." 

"  I  know,  David,  I  know  it.  But  my  case  is  beyond 
human  aid,  since  I  am  powerless  to  apply  a  remedy 
myself." 

"  And  you  are  powerless  ?  " 

Button  was  silent  a  long  moment.  Then,  "  Time  will 
tell,"  he  said  quietly.  "  There  is  one  way  .  ..."  He 
resumed  his  monotonous  round  of  the  room. 

Mechanically  Amber  began  to  smoke,  trying  hard  to 
think,  to  penetrate  by  reasoning  or  intuition  the  wall 
of  mystery  which,  it  seemed,  Button  chose  to  set  be- 
tween himself  and  the  world.  The  intense  earnestness 
of  the  man's  hopeless  confession  had  carried  conviction. 
Amber  believed  him,  believed  in  the  reality  of  his  trouble ; 


THE  MAN  PERDU  55 

and,  divining  it  dimly,  a  monstrous,  menacing  shape  in 
the  vagueness  of  the  unknown,  was  himself  dismayed 
and  a  little  fearful.  He  owed  much  to  this  man,  was 
bound  to  him  by  ties  not  only  of  gratitude  but  of  affec- 
tion, yet,  finding  him  distressed,  found  himself  simul- 
taneously powerless  to  render  aid.  Inwardly  mutinous, 
he  had  to  school  himself  to  quiescence ;  lacking  the  con- 
fidence which  Rutton  so  steadfastly  refused  him,  he  was 
impotent. 

Presently  he  grew  conscious  that  Rutton  was  stand- 
ing as  if  listening,  his  eyes  averted  to  the  windows. 
But  when  Amber  looked  they  showed,  beneath  their  half- 
drawn  muslin  shades,  naught  save  the  grey  horizontal 
rush  of  snow  beyond  the  panes.  And  he  heard  nothing 
save  the  endless  raving  of  the  maniac  wind. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired  at  length,  unable  longer 
to  endure  the  tensity  of  the  pause. 

"  Nothing.  I  beg  your  pardon,  David."  Rutton  re- 
turned to  his  chair,  making  a  visible  effort  to  shake  off 
his  preoccupation.  "  It's  an  ugly  night,  out  there. 
Lucky  you  blundered  on  this  place.  Tell  me  how  it 
happened.  What  became  of  the  other  man — your 
friend?" 

The  thought  of  Quain  stabbed  Amber's  consciousness 
with  a  mental  pang  as  keen  as  acute  physical  anguish. 
He  jumped  up  in  torment.  "  God !  "  he  cried  chokingly. 
"  I'd  forgotten !  He's  out  there  on  the  bay,  poor  devil  J 
— freezing  to  death  if  not  drowned.  Our  boat  went 
adrift  somehow;  Quain  would  insist  on  going  after  her 
in  a  leaky  old  skiff  we  found  on  the  shore  .  .  .  and 
didn't  come  back.  I  waited  till  it  was  hopeless,  then 


56  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

concluded  I'd  make  a  try  to  cross  to  Shampton  by  way 
of  the  tidal  bar.  And  I  must !  " 

"  It's  impossible,"  Rutton  told  him  with  grave 
sympathy. 

"  But  I  must ;  think  of  his  wife  and  children,  Rutton ! 
There's  a  chance  yet — a  bare  chance;  he  may  have 
reached  the  boat.  If  he  did,  every  minute  I  waste  here 
is  killing  him  by  inches ;  he'll  die  of  exposure !  But  from 
Shampton  we  could  send  a  boat — " 

"  The  tide  fulls  about  midnight  to-night,"  inter- 
rupted Rutton,  consulting  his  watch.  "  It's  after 
nine, — and  there's  a  heavy  surf  breaking  over  the 
bar  now.  By  ten  it'll  be  impassable,  and  you  couldn't 
reach  it  before  eleven.  Be  content,  David;  you're 
powerless." 

"  You're  right — I  know  that,"  groaned  Amber,  his 
head  in  his  hands.  "  I  was  afraid  it  was  hopeless,  but 
—but " 

"  I  know,  dear  boy,  I  know !  " 

With  a  gesture  of  despair  Amber  resumed  his  seat. 
For  some  time  he  remained  deep  sunk  in  dejection.  At 
length,  mastering  his  emotion,  he  looked  up.  "  How  did 
you  know  about  Quain — that  we  were  together?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Doggott  saw  you  land  this  morning,  and  I've  been 
watching  you  all  day  with  my  field-glasses,  prepared  to 
take  cover  the  minute  you  turned  my  way.  Don't  be 
angry  with  me,  David ;  it  wasn't  that  I  didn't  yearn  to 
see  you  face  to  face  again,  but  that  ...  I  didn't 
dare." 

"  Oh,  that ! "  exclaimed  Amber  with  an  exasperated 


THE  MAN  PERDU  57 

fling  of  his  hand.  "  Between  the  two  of  you — you  and 
Quain — you'll  drive  me  mad  with  worry." 

"  I'm  sorry,  David.  I  only  wish  I  might  say  more. 
It  hurts  a  bit  to  have  you  doubt  me." 

"  I  don't  doubt,"  Amber  declared  in  desperation ;  "  at 
least,  I  mean  I  won't  if  you'll  be  sensible  and  let  me 
stand  by  and  see  you  through  this  trouble — whatever 
it  is." 

Rutton  turned  to  the  fire,  his  head  drooping  despond- 
ently. "  That  may  not  be,"  he  said  heavily.  "  The 
greatest  service  you  can  do  me  is  to  forget  my  existence, 
now  and  henceforth,  erase  our  friendship  from  the 
tablets  of  your  memory,  pass  me  as  a  stranger  should 
our  ways  ever  cross  again."  He  flicked  the  stub  of  a 
cigarette  into  the  flames.  "  Kismet !  .  .  .  I  mean 
that,  David,  from  my  heart.  Won't  you  do  this  for  me 
— one  last  favour,  old  friend?  " 

"  I'll  try ;  I'll  even  promise,  on  condition  that  you 
send  me  word  if  ever  you  have  need  of  me." 

"  That  will  be  never." 

"  But  if " 

"  I'll  send  for  you  if  ever  I  may,  David ;  I  promise 
faithfully.  And  in  return  I  have  your  word  ?  " 

Amber  nodded. 

"  Then  .  .  ."  Rutton  attempted  to  divert  the  sub- 
ject. "I  think  you  said  Quain?  Any  relation  to 
Quain's  '  Aryan  Invasion  of  India  '  ?  " 

"  The  same  man.  He  asked  me  down  for  the  shoot- 
ing— owns  a  country  place  across  the  bay:  Tangle- 
wood." 

"  A  very  able  man ;  I  wish  I  might  have  met  him. 


58  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

.  .  .  What  of  yourself?  What  have  you  been  doing 
these  three  years?  Have  you  married?  " 

"  I've  been  too  busy  to  think  of  that.  ..   ...  ..   I  mean, 

till  lately." 

"Ah?" 

Amber  flushed  boyishly.  "  There  was  a  girl  at 
Quain's — a  guest.  .  .  .  But  she  left  before  I  dared 
speak.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well." 

"  Why?  " 

"  Because  she  was  too  fine  and  sweet  and  good  for  me, 
Rutton." 

"  Like  every  man's  first  love." 

The  elder  man's  glance  was  keen — too  keen  for  Amber 
to  dissimulate  successfully  under  it.  "  You're  right," 
he  admitted  ruefully.  "  It's  the  first  sure-enough 
trouble  of  the  sort  I  ever  experienced.  And,  of  course, 
it  had  to  be  hopeless." 

"  Why?  "  persisted  Rutton. 

"  Because — I've  half  a  notion  there's  a  chap  waiting 
for  her  at  home." 

"At  home?" 

"  In  England."  The  need  for  a  confidant  was  sud- 
denly imperative  upon  the  younger  man.  "  She's  an 
English  girl — half  English,  that  is ;  her  mother  was  an 
American,  a  schoolmate  of  Quain's  wife;  her  father, 
an  Englishman  in  the  Indian  service." 

"Her  name?" 

"  Sophia  Farrell."  A  peculiar  quality,  a  certain 
tensity,  in  Rutton's  manner,  forced  itself  upon  Amber's 
attention.  "Why?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  know  the 
Farrells?  What's  the  matter?  " 


THE  MAN  PERDU  59 

Button's  eyes  met  his  stonily ;  out  of  the  ashen  mask 
of  his  face,  that  suddenly  had  whitened  beneath  the 
brown,  they  glared,  afire  but  unseeing.  His  hands 
writhed,  the  fingers  twisting  together  with  cruel  force, 
the  knuckles  grey.  Abruptly,  as  if  abandoning  the  at- 
tempt to  reassert  his  self-control,  he  jumped  up  and 
went  quickly  to  a  window,  there  to  stand,  his  back  to 
Amber,  staring  fixedly  out  into  the  storm-racked  night. 
"  I  knew  her  father,"  he  said  at  length,  his  tone  con- 
strained and  odd,  "  long  ago,  in  India." 

"  He's  out  there  now — a  Political,  I  believe  they  call 
him,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

"  Yes." 

"  She's  going  out  to  rejoin  him." 

"  What ! "  Rutton  came  swiftly  back  to  Amber,  his 
voice  shaking.  "  What  did  you  say?  " 

"  Why,  yes.  She  travels  with  friends  by  the  western 
route  to  join  Colonel  Farrell  at  Darjeeling,  where  he's 
stationed  just  now.  Shortly  after  I  came  down  she 
left;  Mrs.  Quain  had  a  wire  a  day  or  so  ago,  saying 
she  was  on  the  point  of  sailing  from  San  Francisco. 
.  .  .  Good  Lord,  Rutton!  are  you  ill?" 

Something  in  the  man's  face  had  brought  Amber  to 
his  feet,  a  prey  to  inexpressible  concern ;  it  was  as  if 
a  mask  had  dropped  and  he  were  looking  upon  the  soul 
of  a  man  in  mortal  torture. 

"  No,"  gasped  Rutton,  "  I'm  all  right.  Besides,"  he 
added  beneath  his  breath,  so  that  Amber  barely  caught 
the  syllables,  "  it's  too  late." 

As  rapidly  as  he  had  lost  he  seemed  to  regain  mastery 
of  his  inexplicable  emotion.  His  face  became  again 


60  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

composed,  almost  immobile,  and  stepping  to  the  table  he 
selected  a  cigarette  and  rolled  it  gently  between  his 
slim  brown  fingers.  "  I'm  sorry  to  have  alarmed  you," 
he  said,  his  tone  a  bit  too  even  not  to  breed  a  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  his  hearer.  "  It's  nothing  serious — a  little 
trouble  of  the  heart,  of  long  standing,  incurable — I 
hope." 

Perplexed,  yet  hesitating  to  press  him  further,  Amber 
watched  him  furtively,  instinctively  assured  that  be- 
tween this  man  and  the  Farrells  there  existed  some  ex- 
traordinary bond;  wondering  how  that  could  be,  con- 
vinced in  his  soul  that  somehow  the  entanglement  in- 
volved the  woman  he  loved,  he  still  feared  to  put  his 
suspicions  to  the  question,  lest  he  should  learn  that 
which  he  had  no  right  to  know  .  .  .  and  while  he 
watched  was  startled  by  the  change  that  came  over 
Rutton.  At  ease,  one  moment,  outwardly  composed  if 
absorbed  in  thought,  the  next  he  was  rigid,  every  muscle 
taut,  every  nerve  tense  as  a  steel  spring,  his  keen, 
thoughtful  face  hardening  with  a  look  of  brutal  hatred, 
his  eyes  narrowing  until  no  more  than  a  glint  of  fire 
was  visible  between  the  lashes,  lips  straining  apart  until 
they  showed  thin  and  bloodless,  with  a  gleam  of  white, 
set  teeth  between.  His  head  jerked  back  suddenly,  his 
gaze  fixing  itself  first  upon  the  window,  then  shifting  to 
the  door.  And  his  fingers,  contracting,  tore  the  cigar- 
ette in  half. 

"  Rutton,  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter?  " 
Rutton  seemed  not  to  hear;  Amber  got  his  answer 
from  the  door,  which  was  swung  wide  and  slammed  shut. 
A  blast  of  frosty  air  and  a  flurry  of  snow  swept  across 


THE  MAN  PERDU  61 

the  room.  And  against  the  door  there  leaned  a  man 
puffing  for  breath  and  coughing  spasmodically — a 
gross  and  monstrous  bulk  of  flesh,  unclean  and  unwhole- 
some to  the  eye,  attired  in  an  extravagant  array  of  col- 
oured garments,  tawdry  silks  and  satins  clinging,  sod- 
den, to  his  ponderous  and  unwieldy  limbs. 

"  The  babu ! "  cried  Amber  unconsciously ;  and  was 
rewarded  by  a  flash  of  recognition  from  the  coal-black, 
beady,  evil  eyes  of  the  man. 

But  for  that  involuntary  exclamation  the  tableau 
held  unbroken  for  a  space;  Rutton  standing  transfixed, 
the  torn  halves  of  the  cigarette  between  his  fingers,  his 
head  well  up  and  back,  his  stare  level,  direct,  uncom- 
promising, a  steady  challenge  to  the  intruder ;  the  babu 
resting  with  one  shoulder  against  the  door,  panting  ster- 
torously  and  trembling  with  the  cold  and  exposure  he 
had  undergone,  yet  with  his  attention  unflinchingly  con- 
centrated upon  Rutton ;  and,  finally,  Amber,  a  little  out 
of  the  picture  and  quite  unconsidered  of  the  others,  not 
without  a  certain  effect  as  of  a  supernumerary  stand- 
ing in  the  wings  and  watching  the  development  of  the 
drama. 

Then,  demanding  Amber's  silence  with  an  imperative 
movement  of  his  hand,  Rutton  spoke.  "  Well,  babu?  " 
he  said  quietly,  the  shadow  of  a  bitter  and  weary  smile 
curving  his  thin,  hard  lips. 

The  Bengali  moved  a  pace  or  two  from  the  door,  and 
plucked  nervously  at  the  throat  of  his  surtout,  finally 
managing  to  insert  one  hand  in  the  folds  of  silk  across 
his  bosom. 

"  I  seek,"  he  said  distinctly  in  Urdu,  and  not  without 


62  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

a  definite  note  of  menace  in  his  manner,  "  the  man  call- 
ing himself  Rutton  Sahib?  " 

Very  deliberately  Rutton  inclined  his  head.  "  I  am 
he." 

"  Hazoor !  "  The  babu  laboriously  doubled  up  his 
enormous  body  in  profound  obeisance.  Having  recov- 
ered, he  nodded  to  Amber  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  an 
old  acquaintance.  "  To  you,  likewise,  greeting,  Amber 
Sahib." 

"  What !  "  Rutton  swung  sharply  to  Amber  with  an 
exclamation  of  amazement.  "  You  know  this  fellow, 
David?" 

The  babu  cut  in  hastily,  stimulated  by  a  pressing 
anxiety  to  clear  himself.  "  Hazoor,  I  did  but  err,  be- 
ing misled  by  his  knowledge  of  our  tongue  as  well  as  by 
that  pale  look  of  you  he  wears.  And,  indeed,  is  it 
strange  that  I  should  take  him  for  you,  who  was  told 
to  seek  you  in  this  wild  land?  " 

"  Be  silent !  "    Rutton  told  him  angrily. 

"  My  lord's  will  is  his  slave's."  Resignedly  the  babu 
folded  his  fat  arms. 

"  Tell  me  about  this,"  Rutton  demanded  of  Amber. 

"  The  ass  ran  across  me  in  the  woods  south  of  the 
station,  the  day  I  came  down,"  explained  Amber,  sum- 
marising the  episode  as  succinctly  as  he  could.  "  He 
didn't  call  me  by  your  name,  but  I've  no  doubt  he's  tell- 
ing the  truth  about  mistaking  me  for  you.  At  all 
events  he  hazoor-ed  me  a  number  of  times,  talked  a  lot 
of  rot  about  some  silly  '  Voice,'  and  finally  made  me  a 
free  gift  of  a  nice  little  bronze  box  that  wouldn't  open. 
After  which  he  took  to  his  heels,  saying  he'd  call  later 


THE  MAN  PERDU  63 

for  my  answer — whatever  he  meant  by  that.  He  did  call 
by  night  and  stole  the  box.  That's  about  all  I  know 
of  him,  thus  far.  But  I'd  watch  out  for  him,  if  I  were 
you ;  if  he  isn't  a  raving  luntic,  I  miss  my  guess." 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  all  quite  as  the  sahib  says," 
the  babu  admitted  graciously,  his  eyes  gleaming  with 
sardonic  amusement.  "  Circumstances  conspired  to 
mislead  me;  but  that  I  was  swift  to  discover.  Nor  did 
I  lose  time  in  remedying  the  error,  as  you  have  heard. 
Moreover " 

He  shut  up  suddenly  at  a  sign  from  Rutton,  with  a 
ludicrous  shrug  of  his  huge  shoulders  disclaiming  any 
ill-intent  or  wrong-doing;  and  while  Rutton  remained 
deep  in  thought  by  the  table,  the  babu  held  silence,  his 
gaze  flickering  suspiciously  round  the  room,  searching 
the  shadows,  questioning  the  closed  door  behind  which 
Doggott  lay  asleep  (evidence  of  which  fact  was  not 
wanting  in  his  snores),  resting  fleet Jngly  on  Amber's 
face,  returning  to  Rutton.  His  features  were  com- 
posed ;  his  face,  indeed,  might  have  been  taken  as  a  model 
for  some  weird  mask  of  unctuous  depravity,  but  for  his 
eyes,  which  betrayed  a  score  of  differing  phases  of  emo- 
tion. He  was  by  turns  apparently  possessed  by  fear, 
malice,  distrust,  a  subtle  sense  of  triumph,  contempt  for 
Amber,  deference  to  Rutton,  and  a  feeling  that  he  was 
master  not  alone  of  the  situation  but  of  the  man  whom 
he  professed  to  honor  so  extravagantly. 

At  length  Rutton  looked  up,  suppressing  a  sigh. 
"  Your  errand,  babu?" 

"  Is  it,  then,  your  will  that  I  should  speak  before  this 
man?  "  The  Bengali  nodded  impudently  at  Amber. 


64  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  It  is  my  will." 

"  Shabash !  I  bear  a  message,  hazoor,  from  the 
Bell." 

"  You  are  the  Mouthpiece  of  the  Voice?  " 

"  That  honor  is  mine,  hazoor.  For  the  rest  I  am " 

"  Behari  Lai  Chatter ji,"  interrupted  Rutton  impa- 
tiently ;  "  solicitor  of  the  Inner  Temple — disbarred ; 
anointed  thief,  liar,  jackal,  lickspittle,  and  perjurer — I 
know  you." 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  man  insolently,  "  omits  from  his 
catalogue  of  my  accomplishments  my  chief est  honour; 
he  forgets  that,  with  him,  I  am  an  accepted  Member  of 
the  Body." 

"  The  Body  wears  strange  members  that  employs  you, 
babu,"  commented  Rutton  bitterly.  "  It  has  fallen  upon 
evil  days  when  such  as  you  are  charged  with  a  message 
of  the  Bell." 

"  My  lord  is  harsh  to  one  who  would  be  his  slave  in  all 
things.  Fortunate  indeed  am  I  to  own  the  protection  of 
the  Token."  A  slow  leer  widened  greasily  upon  his 
moon-like  face. 

"  Ah,  the  Token !  "  Rutton  repeated  tensely,  beneath 
his  breath.  "  It  is  true  that  you  have  the  Token?  " 

"  Aye ;  it  is  even  here,  my  lord."  The  heavy  brown 
hand  returned  to  the  spot  it  had  sought  soon  after  the 
babu's  entrance,  within  the  folds  of  silk  across  his  bosom, 
and  groped  therein  for  an  instant.  "  Even  here,"  he 
iterated  with  a  maddening  manner  of  supreme  self-com- 
placency, producing  the  bronze  box  and  waddling  over 
to  drop  it  into  Rutton's  hand.  "  My  lord  is  satisfied?  " 
he  gurgled  maliciously. 


THE  MAN  PERDU  65 

Without  answering  Rutton  turned  the  box  over  in 
his  palm,  his  slender  fingers  playing  about  the  bosses 
of  the  relief  work;  there  followed  a  click  and  one  side 
of  it  swung  open.  The  Bengali  fell  back  a  pace  with 
a  whisper  of  awe — real  or  affected :  "  The  Token, 
hazoor !  "  Amber  himself  gasped  slightly. 

Unheeded,  the  box  dropped  to  the  floor.  Between 
Rutton's  thumb  and  forefinger  there  blazed  a  great 
emerald  set  in  a  ring  of  red  old  gold.  He  turned  it  this 
way  and  that,  inspecting  it  critically;  and  the  lamp- 
light, catching  on  the  facets,  struck  from  it  blinding 
shafts  of  intensely  green  radiance.  Rutton  nodded  as 
if  in  recognition  of  the  stone  and,  turning,  with  an  ef- 
fect of  carelessness,  tossed  it  to  Amber. 

"  Keep  that  for  me,  David,  please,"  he  said.  And 
Amber,  catching  it,  dropped  the  ring  into  his 
pocket. 

"  My  lord  is  satisfied  with  my  credentials,  then?  "  the 
babu  persisted. 

"  It  is  the  Token,"  Rutton  assented  wearily.  "  Now, 
your  message.  Be  brief." 

"  The  utterances  of  the  Voice  be  infrequent,  hazoor, 
its  words  few — but  charged  with  meaning :  as  you  know 
of  old."  The  Bengali  drew  himself  up,  holding  up  his 
head  and  rolling  forth  his  phrases  in  a  voice  of  great 
resonance  and  depth.  "  These  be  the  words  of  the  Voice, 
hazoor : 

"  '  To  all  my  peoples: 

"  '  Even  now  the  Gateway  of  Swords  yawns  wide, 
that  he  who  is  without  fear  may  pass  within;  to  the  end 
that  the  Body  be  purged  of  the  Scarlet  Evil. 


66  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  *  The  Elect  are  bidden  to  the  Ordeal  with  no  ex- 
ception.' ' 

The  sonorous  accents  subsided,  and  a  tense  wait  en- 
sued, none  speaking.  Rutton  stood  in  stony  apathy, 
his  eyes  lifted  to  a  dim  corner  of  the  ceiling,  his  gaze 
— like  his  thoughts — perhaps  ranging  far  beyond  the 
dreary  confines  of  the  cabin  in  the  dunes.  Minute  after 
minute  passed,  he  making  no  sign,  the  babu  poised  be- 
fore him  in  inscrutable  triumph,  watching  him  keenly 
with  his  black  and  evil  eyes  of  a  beast.  Amber  hung 
breathless  upon  the  issue,  sensing  a  conflict  of  terrible 
forces  in  Rutton's  mind,  but  comprehending  nothing  of 
their  natures.  In  the  hush  within-doors  he  became 
acutely  conscious  of  the  war  of  elements  without:  the 
mad  elfin  yammering  of  the  gale  tearing  at  the  cabin 
as  though  trying  to  seize  it  up  bodily  and  whirl  it 
off  into  the  witches'  dance  of  the  storm;  the  deep 
and  awful  booming  of  the  breakers,  whose  incessant 
impact  upon  the  beach  seemed  to  rock  the  very  island 
on  its  base.  Somehow  he  divined  a  similitude  between 
the  struggle  within  and  the  struggle  without,  seemed 
to  see  the  contending  elements  personified  before  his 
eyes — the  spirit  of  evil  incarnate  in  the  Bengali,  vast, 
loathsome,  terrible  in  his  inflexibility  of  malign  purpose ; 
the  force  of  right  symbolized  in  Rutton,  frail  of  stature, 
fine  of  mould,  strong  in  his  unbending  loyalty  to  his 
conception  of  honour  and  duty.  The  Virginian  could 
have  predicted  the  outcome  confidently,  believing  as  he 
did  in  his  friend.  It  came  eventually  on  the  heels  of  a 
movement  of  the  babu's ;  unable  longer  to  hold  his  pose, 
he  shifted  slightly.  And  Rutton  awoke  as  from  a  sleep. 


THE  MAN  PERDU  67 

"  The  Voice  has  spoken,  babu,"  he  said,  not  ungently, 
"  and  I  have  heard." 

"  And  your  answer,  lord?  " 

"  There  is  no  answer." 

"  Hazoor ! " 

"  I  have  said,"  Rutton  confirmed  evenly,  "  there  is 
no  answer." 

"You  will  obey?" 

"  That  is  between  me  and  my  God.  Go  back  to  the 
Hall  of  the  Bell,  Behari  Lai  Chatter ji,  and  deliver 
your  report ;  say  that  you  have  seen  me,  that  I  have  lis- 
tened to  the  words  of  the  Voice,  and  that  I  sent  no 
answer." 

"  Hazoor,  I  may  not.  I  am  charged  to  return  only 
with  you." 

"  Make  your  peace  with  the  Bell  in  what  manner 
you  will,  babu ;  it  is  no  concern  of  mine.  Go,  now,  while 
yet  time  is  granted  you  to  avoid  a  longer  journey  this 
night." 

"  Hazoor !  " 

"  Go."  Rutton  pointed  to  the  door,  his  voice  imper- 
ative. 

Upon  this  the  babu  abandoned  argument,  realising 
that  further  resistance  were  futile.  And  in  a  twinkling 
his  dignity,  his  Urdu  and  his  cloak  of  mystery,  were 
discarded,  and  he  was  merely  an  over-educated  and 
over-fed  Bengali,  jabbering  babu-English. 

"  Oah,  as  for  thatt,"  he  affirmed  easily,  with  an  oleag- 
inous smirk,  "  I  daresay  I  shall  be  able  to  make  ade- 
quate explanation.  It  shall  be  as  you  say,  sar.  I  con- 
fess to  fright,  however,  because  of  storm."  He  included 


68  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Amber  affably  in  his  confidences.  "  By  Gad,  sar,  thees 
climate  iss  most,  trying  to  person  of  my  habits.  The 
journey  hither  via  causeway  from  mainland  was  veree 
fearful.  Thee  sea  is  most  agitated.  You  observe  my 
wetness  from  association  with  spray.  I  am  of  opinion 
if  I  am  not  damn-careful  I  jolly  well  catch-my-death  on 
return.  But  thatt  is  all  in  day's  work." 

He  rolled  sluggishly  toward  the  door,  dragging  his 
inadequate  overcoat  across  his  barrel-like  chest;  and 
paused  to  cough  affectingly,  with  one  hand  on  the  knob. 
Rutton  eyed  him  contemptuously. 

"  If  you  care  to  run  the  risk,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"  you  may  have  a  chair  by  the  fire  till  the  storm  breaks, 
babu." 

"  Beg  pardon  ?  "  The  babu's  eyes  widened.  "  Oah, 
yess ;  I  see.  '  If  I  care  to  run  risk.'  Veree  considerate 
of  you,  I'm  sure.  But  as  we  say  in  Bengal,  *  thee  favour 
of  kings  iss  ass  a  sword  of  two  edges.'  Noah,  thanks ; 
the  servants  of  thee  Bell  do  not  linger  by  wayside,  soa 
to  speak.  Besides,  I  am  in  great  hurree.  Mister  Amber, 
good  night.  Rutton  Sahib  " — with  a  flash  of  his  sin- 
ister humour — "  au  revoir;  I  mean  to  say,  till  we  meet 
in  thee  Hall  of  thee  Bell.  Good  night." 

He  nodded  insolently  to  the  man  whom  a  little  time 
since  he  had  hailed  as  "  my  lord,"  shrugged  his  coat 
collar  up  round  his  fat,  dirty  neck,  shivered  in  antici- 
pation, jerked  the  door  open  and  plunged  ponderously 
out. 

A  second  later  Amber  saw  the  confused  mass  of  his 
turban  glide  past  the  window. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    GOBLIN    NIGHT 

AMBER  whistled  low.  "  Impossible !  "  he  said  thought- 
fully. 

Rutton  had  crossed  to  and  was  bending  over  a  small 
leather  trunk  that  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  In 
the  act  of  opening  it,  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 
"  What  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  I  was  only  thinking ;  there's  something  I  can't  see 
through  in  that  babu's  willingness  to  go." 

"  He  was  afraid  to  stay." 

"  Why?  " 

Rutton,  rummaging  in  the  trunk,  made  no  reply. 
After  a  moment  Amber  resumed. 

"  You  know  what  Bengalis  are ;  that  fellow'd  do 
anything,  brave  any  ordinary  danger,  rather  than  try 
to  cross  that  sandbar  again — if  he  really  came  that 
way ;  which  I  am  inclined  to  doubt.  On  the  other  hand, 
he's  intelligent  enough  to  know  that  a  night  like  this  in 
the  dunes  would  kill  him.  Well,  what  then?  " 

Rutton  was  not  listening.  As  Amber  concluded  he 
seemed  to  find  what  he  had  been  seeking,  thrust  it  hur- 
riedly into  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  and  with  a 
muttered  word,  unintelligible,  dashed  to  the  door  and 
flung  it  open  and  himself  out. 

With  a  shriek  of  demoniac  glee  the  wind  entered  into 
and  took  possession  of  the  room.  A  cloud  of  snow  swept 


70  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

across  the  floor  like  a  veil.  The  door  battered  against 
the  wall  as  if  trying  to  break  it  down.  A  pile  of  news- 
papers was  swept  from  the  table  and  scattered  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  room.  The  rug  lifted  beneath  the 
table  and  flapped  against  it  like  a  broken  wing.  The 
cheap  tin  kerosene  lamp  jumped  as  though  caught  up 
by  a  hand ;  its  flame  leapt  high  and  blue  above  the  chim- 
ney— and  was  not.  In  darkness  but  for  the  fitful  flare 
of  the  fire  that  had  been  dying  in  embers  on  the  hearth, 
Amber,  seeking  the  doorway,  fell  over  a  chair,  blun- 
dered flat  into  the  wall,  and  stumbled  unexpectedly  out 
of  the  house. 

His  concern  was  all  for  Rutton ;  he  had  no  other 
thought.  He  ran  a  little  way  down  the  hollow,  heartsick 
with  horror  and  cold  with  dread.  Then  he  paused,  be- 
wildered. Other  than  the  wan  glimmer  of  the  snow- 
clad  earth  he  had  no  light  to  guide  him ;  with  this  poor 
aid  he  could  see  no  more  than  that  the  vale  was  de- 
serted. Whither  in  that  white  whirling  world  Rutton 
might  have  wandered,  it  was  impossible  to  surmise.  In 
despair  the  Virginian  turned  back. 

When  he  had  found  his  way  to  the  door  of  the  cabin, 
it  was  closed;  as  he  entered  and  shut  it  behind  him,  a 
match  flared  and  expired  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  a  man  cursed  brokenly. 

"  Rutton  ?  "  cried  Amber  in  a  flush  of  hope. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Amber?  Thank  Gawd!  Wyte  a 
minute." 

A  second  match  spluttered,  its  flame  waxing  in  the 
pink  cup  of  Doggott's  hands.  The  servant's  head  and 
shoulders  stood  out  in  dim  relief  against  the  darkness. 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  71 

4i  I've  burnt  me  'and  somethin'  'orrid  on  this  damn'  'ot 
chimney,"  he  complained  nervously. 

He  succeeded  in  setting  fire  to  the  wick.  The  light 
showed  him  barefoot  and  shivering  in  shirt  and  trousers. 
He  lifted  a  bemused  red  face  to  Amber,  blinking  and 
nursing  his  scorched  hand.  "  For  pity's  syke,  sir,  w'at's 
'appened?  " 

"  It's  hard  to  say,"  replied  Amber  vaguely,  preoc- 
cupied. He  went  immediately  to  a  window  and  stood 
there,  looking  out. 

"  But  w'ere's  Mr.  Rutton,  sir?  " 

"  Gone — out  there — I  don't  know  just  where."  Amber 
moved  back  to  the  table.  "  You  see,  he  had  a  caller." 

"  A  caller,  sir — on  a  night  like  this  ?  " 

"  The  man  he  came  here  to  hide  from,"  said  Amber. 

"  I  knew  'e  was  tryin'  to  dodge  somethin',  sir ;  but 
'e  never  told  me  aught  about  it.  What  kind  of  a  per- 
son was  'e,  sir,  and  what  made  Mr.  Rutton  go  aw'y 
with  'im?  " 

"  He  didn't ;  he  went  after  him  to  .  .  ."  Amber 
caught  his  tongue  on  the  verge  of  an  indiscretion ;  no 
matter  what  his  fears,  they  were  not  yet  become  a 
suitable  subject  for  discussion  with  Rutton's  servant. 
"  I  think,"  he  amended  lamely,  "  he  had  forgotten  some- 
thing." 

"  And  Vs  out  there  now !  My  Gawd,  what  a  night !  " 
He  hung  in  hesitation  for  a  little.  "  Did  'e  wear  'is 
topcoat  and  'at,  sir?  " 

"  No ;  he  went  suddenly.  I  don't  think  he  intended 
to  be  gone  long." 

"  I'd  better  go  after  'im,  then.    'E'll  'ave  pneumonia 


72  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

i.  .  .  I'll  just  jump  into  me  clothes  and "  He 

slipped  into  the  back  room,  to  reappear  with  surpris- 
ingly little  delay,  fully  dressed  and  buttoning  a  long 
ulster  round  his  throat.  "  You  didn't  'appen  to  notice 
which  w'y  'e  went,  sir  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  I  could  judge,  to  the  east." 

Doggott  took  down  a  second  ulster  and  a  cap  from 
pegs  in  the  wall.  "  I'll  do  my  best  to  find  'im ;  'e  might 
lose  'imself ,  you  know,  with  no  light  nor  nothin'." 

"And  you?" 

"I'll  be  all  right;  I'll  follow  'is  footprints  in  the 
snow.  I've  a  'andy  little  electric  bull's-eye  to  'elp  me, 
in  my  pocket." 

"  Are  you  armed,  Doggott  ?  " 

"  By  Mr.  Rutton's  orders,  sir,  I've  carried  a  revolver 
for  years.  You  aren't  thinkin'  it's  come  to  that,  sir?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ...  If  I  was  sure  I  wouldn't  let 
you  go  alone,"  said  Amber,  frowning.  "  It's  only  that 
Mr.  Rutton  may  not  want  me  about  ...  I  wish  I 
knew!" 

"  It'll  be  better,  sir,  for  you  to  stay  and  keep  the  fire 
up — if  you  don't  mind  my  makin'  so  free  as  to  advise 
— in  case  Vs  'arf-froze  when  'e  gets  back,  as  is  likely. 
But  I'd  better  'urry,  'specially  if  .  .  ."  Doggott's 
color  faded  a  little  and  his  mouth  tightened.  "  But  I 
'ope  you're  mistyken,  sir.  Good-night." 

The  door  slammed  behind  him. 

Alone,  and  a  prey  to  misgivings  he  scarce  dared  name 
to  himself,  Amber  from  the  window  watched  the  blot  of 
light  from  Doggott's  handlamp  fade  and  vanish  in  the 
storm;  then,  becoming  sensible  to  the  cold,  went  to  the 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  73 

fireplace,  kicked  the  embers  together  until  they  blazed, 
and  piled  on  more  fuel. 

A  cosy,  crackling  sound  began  to  be  audible  in  the 
room;  sibilant  jets  of  flame,  scarlet,  yellow,  violet,  and 
green,  spurted  up  from  the  driftwood.  Under  the 
hypnotic  influence  of  the  comforting  warmth,  weariness 
descended  upon  Amber  like  a  burden ;  he  was  afraid  to 
close  his  eyes  or  to  sit  down,  lest  sleep  should  overcome 
him  for  all  his  intense  excitement  and  anxiety.  He 
forced  himself  to  move  steadily  round  the  room,  strug- 
gling against  a  feeling  that  all  that  he  had  witnessed 
must  have  been  untrue,  an  evil  dream,  akin  to  the  waking 
visions  that  had  beset  him  between  the  loss  of  Quain  and 
the  finding  of  Rutton.  The  very  mediocrity  of  the  sur- 
roundings seemed  to  discredit  the  testimony  of  his  wits. 

Unmistakably  a  camp  erected  for  its  owners'  conven- 
ience during  the  hunting  season,  alike  in  design  and  fur- 
nishing the  cabin  was  almost  painfully  crude  and  homely. 
The  walls  were  of  rough-hewn  logs  from  which  the  bark 
had  not  been  removed ;  the  interstices  were  stopped  only 
with  coarse  plaster ;  the  partition  dividing  it  into  two 
rooms  was  of  pine,  unpainted.  In  one  corner  near  Rut- 
ton's  trunk,  a  bed-hammock  swung  from  a  beam.  The 
few  chairs  were  plain  and  rude.  There  were  two  deal 
tables,  a  plate-rack  nailed  to  the  partition,  and  a  wall- 
seat  in  the  chimney-corner.  On  the  centre  table,  aside 
from  the  lamp,  were  a  couple  of  books,  some  out-of-date 
magazines,  and  a  common  tin  alarm-clock  ticking 
stolidly. 

In  a  setting  so  hopelessly  commonplace  and  everyday, 
one  act  of  a  drama  of  blood  and  fire  had  been  played; 


74  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

into  these  mean  premises  the  breath  of  the  storm,  as  the 
babu  entered,  had  blown  Romance.  .  .  .  Incredible! 

And  yet  Amber's  hand,  dropping  idly  in  his  coat- 
pocket,  encountered  a  priceless  witness  to  the  reality  of 
what  had  passed.  Frowning,  troubled,  he  drew  forth 
the  ring  and  slipped  it  upon  his  finger ;  rays  of  blind- 
ing emerald  light  coruscated  from  it,  dazzling  him. 
With  a  low  cry  of  wonder  he  took  it  to  the  lamplight. 
Never  had  he  looked  upon  so  fine  a  stone,  so  strangely 
cut.  f 

It  was  set  in  ruddy  soft  gold,  worked  and  graven  with 
exquisite  art  in  the  semblance  of  a  two-headed  cobra; 
inside  the  band  was  an  inscription  so  worn  and  faint 
that  Amber  experienced  some  difficulty  in  deciphering 
the  word  RAO  (king)  in  Devanagari,  flanked  by  swas- 
tikas. Aside  from  the  stone  entirely,  he  speculated, 
the  value  of  the  ring  as  an  antique  would  have  proven 
inestimable.  As  for  the  emerald  itself,  in  its  original 
state,  before  cutting,  it  must  have  been  worth  the  ran- 
som of  an  emperor;  much  had  certainly  been  sacrificed 
to  fashion  it  in  its  present  form.  The  cunning  of  a 
jewel-cutter  whose  art  was  lost  before  Tyre  and  Nine- 
veh upreared  their  heads  must  have  been  taxed  by  the 
task.  Its  innumerable  facets  reproduced  with  wonder- 
ful fidelity  a  human  eyeball,  unwinking,  sleepless.  In 
the  enigmatic  heart  of  its  impenetrable  iris  cold  fire 
lived,  cold  passionless  flames  leaped  and  died  and  leaped 
again  like  the  sorcerous  fire  of  a  pythoness. 

To  gaze  into  its  depths  was,  like  questioning  the  in- 
scrutable green  heart  of  the  sea.  Fascinated,  Amber 
felt  his  consciousness  slip  from  him  as  a  mantle  might 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  75 

slip  from  his  shoulders;  awake,  staring  wide-eyed  into 
the  emerald  eye,  he  forgot  self,  forgot  the  world,  and 
dreamed,  dreamed  curiously.  .  .  . 

The  crash  of  the  door  closing  behind  him  brought  him 
to  the  right-about  in  a  panic  flutter.  He  glared  stu- 
pidly for  a  time  before  comprehending  that  Rutton  and 
Doggott  had  returned.  How  long  they  had  been  absent 
he  had  no  means  of  reckoning ;  the  interval  might  have 
been  five  minutes  or  an  hour  in  duration.  The  time 
since  he  had  stooped  to  examine  the  ring  was  as  in- 
definite ;  but  his  back  was  aching  and  his  thoughts  were 
drowsy  and  confused.  He  had  a  sensation  as  of  being 
violently  recalled  to  a  dull  and  colourless  world  from 
some  far  realm  of  barbaric  enchantment.  His  brain 
reeled  and  his  vision  was  blurred  as  if  by  the  flash  and 
glamour  of  many  vivid  colours. 

With  an  effort  he  managed  to  force  himself  to  under- 
stand that  Rutton  was  back.  After  that  he  felt  more 
normal.  His  thoughts  slid  back  into  their  accustomed 
grooves. 

If  there  were  anything  peculiar  in  his  manner,  Rut- 
ton  did  not  remark  it.  Indeed,  he  seemed  unconscious, 
for  a  time,  of  the  presence  either  of  Amber  or  of  Dog- 
gott. The  servant  relieved  him  of  his  overcoat  and 
hat,  and  he  strode  directly  to  the  fire,  bending  over  to 
chafe  and  warm  his  frost-nipped  hands.  Unquestion- 
ably he  laboured  under  the  influence  of  an  extraordi- 
nary agitation.  His  limbs  twitched  and  jerked  nerv- 
ously ;  his  eyebrows  were  tensely  elevated,  his  eyes  blaz- 
ing, his  nostrils  dilated;  his  face  was  ashen  grey. 

From  across  the  room  Doggott  signalled  silence  to 


76  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Amber,  with  a  forefinger  to  his  lips;  and  with  a  dis- 
cretion bred  of  long  knowledge  of  his  master's  temper, 
tiptoed  through  into  the  back  room  and  shut  the 
door. 

Amber  respected  the  admonition  throughout  a  wait 
that  seemed  endless. 

The  tin  clock  hammered  off  five  minutes  or  more. 
Suddenly  Rutton  started  and  wheeled  round,  every 
trace  of  excitement  smoothed  away.  Meeting  Amber's 
gaze  he  nodded  as  if  casually,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Amber," 
quietly,  with  an  effect  of  faint  surprise.  Then  he 
dropped  heavily  into  a  chair  by  the  table. 

"  Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  is  over." 

Amber,  without  speaking,  went  to  his  side  and 
touched  his  shoulder  with  that  pitifully  inadequate  ges- 
ture of  sympathy  which  men  so  frequently  employ. 

"  I  killed  him,"  said  Rutton  dully. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Amber.  He  was  not  surprised ;  he 
had  apprehended  the  tragedy  from  the  moment  that 
Rutton  had  fled  him,  speechless;  the  feeling  of  horror 
that  he  had  at  first  experienced  had  ebbed,  merged 
into  a  sort  of  apathetic  acknowledgment  of  the  inevi- 
table. 

After  a  bit  Rutton  turned  to  the  table  and  drew  an 
automatic  pistol  from  his  pocket,  opening  the  magazine. 
Five  cartridges  remained  in  the  clip,  showing  that  two 
had  been  exploded.  "  I  was  not  sure,"  he  said  thought- 
fully, "  how  many  times  I  had  fired."  His  curiosity 
satisfied,  he  reloaded  the  weapon  and  returned  it  to  his 
pocket.  "  He  died  like  a  dog,"  he  said,  "  whimpering 
and  blaspheming  in  the  face  of  eternity  .  .  .  out 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  7T 

there  in  the  cold  and  the  night.  ...  It  was  sicken- 
ing— the  sound  of  the  bullets  tearing  through  his- 
flesh.  .  .  ." 

He  shuddered. 

"  Didn't  he  resist?  "  Amber  asked  involuntarily. 

"  He  tried  to.  I  let  him  pop  away  with  his  revolver 
until  it  was  empty.  Then  .  .  ." 

"  What  made  you  wait?  " 

"  I  didn't  care ;  it  didn't  matter.  One  of  us  had  to 
die  to-night ;  he  should  have  known  that  when  I  refused 
to  accompany  him  back  to  ...  I  was  hungry  for 
his  bullet  more  than  for  his  life;  I  gave  him  every 
chance.  But  it  had  to  be  as  it  was.  That  was  Fate., 
Now  .  .  ."  He  paused  and  after  a  little  went  on  in 
a  more  controlled  voice.  "  Quaintly  enough,  if  there's 
anything  in  the  theory  of  heredity,  David,  my  hands 
have  been  stained  with  no  man's  blood  before  to-night. 
Yet  my  forebears  were  a  murderous  lot.  .  .  .  Until 
this  hour  I  never  realised  how  swift  and  uncontrollable 
could  be  the  impulse  to  slay.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  silence  and  he  sat  staring 
into  the  flickering  flames  that  played  about  the  drift- 
wood. Now  and  again  his  lips  moved  noiselessly. 

With  a  wrench  Amber  pulled  himself  together.  He 
had  been  mentally  a  witness  to  the  murder — had  seen  the 
Bengali,  obese,  monstrous,  flabby,  his  unclean  carcass  a 
gross  casing  for  a  dark  spirit  of  iniquity  and  treachery, 
writhing  and  whining  in  the  throes  of  death.  .  .  . 
"  Rutton,"  he  demanded  suddenly,  without  premedita- 
tion, "  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Do? "     Rutton    looked    up,    his    eyes    perplexed. 


78  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Why,  what  is  there  to  do?  Get  away  as  best  I  can, 
I  presume — seek  another  hole  to  hide  in." 

"  But  how  about  the  law?  " 

"The  law?  Why  need  it  ever  be  known — what  has 
happened  to-night  ?  I  can  count  on  your  silence — I  have 
no  need  to  ask.  Doggott  would  die  rather  than  betray 
me.  He  and  I  can  dispose  of — it.  No  one  comes  here 
at  this  time  of  the  year  save  hunting  parties ;  and  their 
eyes  are  not  upon  the  ground.  You  will  go  your  way  in 
the  morning.  We'll  clear  out  immediately  after." 

"  You'd  better  take  no  chances." 

Suddenly  Rutton  smote  the  table  with  his  fist.  "  By 
Indur ! "  he  swore  strangely,  his  voice  quavering  with 
joy;  "I  had  not  thought  of  that!"  He  jumped  up 
and  began  to  move  excitedly  to  and  fro.  "  I  am  free ! 
None  but  you  and  I  know  of  the  passing  of  the  Token 
and  the  delivery  of  the  message — none  can  possibly 
know  for  days,  perhaps  weeks.  For  so  much  time  at 
least  I  am  in  no  danger  of " 

He  shut  his  mouth  like  a  trap  on  words  that  might 
have  enlightened  Amber. 

"Of  what?" 

"  Let  me  see :  there  are  still  waste  places  in  the  world 
where  a  man  may  lose  himself.  There's  Canada — the 
Hudson  Bay  region,  Labrador.  .  .  ." 

A  discreet  knock  sounded  on  the  door  in  the  parti- 
tion, and  it  was  opened  gently.  Doggott  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  pale  and  careworn.  Rutton  paused,  fac- 
ing him. 

"Well?" 

"Any  orders,  sir?" 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  79 

"  Yes ;  begin  packing  up.     We  leave  to-morrow." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  That  is  all  to-night." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Good-night.  Good-night,  Mr.  Amber." 
The  man  retired  and  at  intervals  thereafter  Amber 
could  hear  him  moving  about,  apparently  obeying 
orders. 

Rutton  replenished  the  fire  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
it,  smiling  almost  happily.  All  evidence  of  remorse  had 
disappeared.  He  seemed  momentarily  almost  light- 
hearted,  certainly  in  better  spirits  than  he  had  been  at 
any  time  that  night.  "  Free !  "  he  cried  softly.  "  And 
by  the  simplest  of  solutions.  Strange  that  I  should 

never  have  thought  before  to-night  of "  He  glanced 

carelessly  toward  the  window;  and  it  was  as  if  his  lips 
had  been  wiped  clean  of  speech. 

Amber  turned,  thrilling,  his  flesh  creeping  with  the 
horror  that  he  had  divined  in  Rutton's  transfixed  gaze. 

Outside  the  glass,  that  was  lightly  silvered  with  frost, 
something  moved — the  spectral  shadow  of  a  turbaned 
head — moved  and  was  stationary  for  the  space  of 
twenty  heartbeats.  Beneath  the  turban  Amber  seemed 
to  see  two  eyes,  wide  staring  and  terribly  alight. 

"God!"  cried  Rutton  thickly,  jerking  forth  his 
pistol. 

The  shadow  vanished. 

With  a  single  thought  Amber  sprang  upon  Rutton, 
snatched  the  weapon  from  his  nerveless  fingers,  and, 
leaping  to  the  door,  let  himself  out. 

The  snow  had  ceased;  only  the  wind  raved  with  un- 
tempered  force.  Overhead  it  was  blowing  clear; 


80  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

through  rifts  and  rents  in  the  fast-moving  cloud-rack 
pale  turquoise  patches  of  moonlit  sky  showed,  here  and 
there  inlaid  with  a  far  shining  star.  The  dunes  were 
coldly  a-glimmer  with  the  meagre  light  that  penetrated 
to  the  earth  and  was  cast  back  by  its  white  and  spotless 
shroud. 

But  Amber,  at  pause  a  few  paces  beyond  the  door- 
step, his  forefinger  ready  upon  the  trigger  of  the  auto- 
matic pistol,  was  alone  in  the  hollow. 

Cautiously,  and,  to  be  frank,  a  bit  dismayed,  he  made 
a  reconnaissance,  circling  the  building,  but  discovered 
nothing  to  reward  his  pains.  The  snow  lay  unbroken 
except  in  front  of  the  cabin,  where  the  traces  of  feet 
existed  in  profuse  confusion ;  Amber  himself,  Rutton, 
Doggott,  the  babu,  and  perhaps  another,  had  passed 
and  repassed  there;  the  trail  they  had  beaten  streamed 
out  of  the  vale,  to  the  eastwards.  Only,  before  the  win- 
dow, through  which  he  had  seen  the  peering  turbaned 
head,  he  found  the  impressions  of  two  feet,  rather  deep 
and  definite,  toes  pointing  toward  the  house,  as  though 
some  one  had  lingered  there,  looking  in.  The  sight  of 
them  reassured  him  ridiculously. 

"  At  least,"  he  reflected,  "  disembodied  spirits  leave 
no  footprints ! " 

He  found  Rutton  precisely  as  he  had  left  him,  his 
very  attitude  an  unuttered  question. 

"  No,"  Amber  told  him,  "  he'd  made  a  quick  get- 
away. The  marks  of  his  feet  were  plain  enough,  outside 
the  window,  but  he  was  gone,  and  .  .  .  somehow  I 
wasn't  over-keen  to  follow  him  up." 

"  Right,"  said  the  elder  man  dejectedly.     "  I  might 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  81 

have  known  Chatter ji  would  not  have  come  alone.  So 
rny  crime  was  futile."  He  spoke  without  spirit,  as  if 
completely  fagged,  and  moved  slowly  to  the  door.  "  I 
don't  want  another  interruption  to-night,"  he  continued, 
shooting  the  bolts.  He  turned  to  the  windows,  "  Nor 
peeping  Toms,"  he  added,  drawing  the  shade  of  one 
down  to  the  sill. 

Amber  started  for  him  in  a  panic.  "  Get  away  from 
that  window,  Rutton !  For  the  love  of  heaven  don't  be 
foolhardy!" 

Rutton  drew  the  second  shade  deliberately.  "  Dear 
boy ! "  he  said  with  his  slow,  tired  smile,  "  I'm  in  no 
danger  personally.  Not  a  hair  of  my  head  will  be 
touched  until  .  .  ."  Again  he  left  his  thought  half- 
expressed. 

"  But  if  that  fellow  out  there  was  Chatter ji's  com- 
panion  !  " 

"  He  undoubtedty  was.  But  you  don't  understand ; 
my  life  is  not  threatened — yet." 

"  Chatter  ji  fired  at  you,"  Amber  argued  stub- 
bornly. 

"  Only  when  he  found  it  was  his  life  or  mine.  I  tell 
you,  David,  if  our  enemy  in  the  outer  darkness  were 
the  babu's  brother,  he  would  not  touch  a  hair  of  my  head 
unless  in  self-defense." 

"  I  don't  understand.  It's  all  so  impossible !  "  Amber 
threw  out  his  hands  helplessly,  "  Unbelievable !  For 
God's  sake  wake  me  up  and  tell  me  I've  had  a  night- 
mare ! " 

"  I  would  that  were  so,  David.     But  the  end  is  not 

yet." 


82  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  demanded  Amber, 
startled. 

"  Simply,  that  we  have  more  to  endure,  you  and  I. 
Consider  the  limitations  of  the  human  understanding, 
David;  a  little  while  ago  I  promised  to  ask  your  aid 
if  ever  the  time  should  come  when  I  might  be  free  to 
do  so ;  I  said, '  That  hour  will  never  strike.'  Yet  already 
it  is  here ;  I  need  you.  Will  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  You  know  that." 

"  I  know.  .  .  .  One  moment's  patience,  David." 
Rutton  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  Time  for  my  medicine," 
he  said ;  "  that  heart  trouble  I  mentioned.  ..." 

He  drew  from  a  waistcoat  pocket  a  small  silver  tube, 
or  phial,  and  uncorking  this,  measured  out  a  certain 
number  of  drops  into  a  silver  spoon.  As  he  swallowed 
the  dose  the  phial  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  rang 
upon  the  hearthstone,  spilling  its  contents  in  the 
ashes.  A  pungent  and  heady  odour  flavoured  the 
air. 

"  No  matter,"  said  Rutton  indifferently.  "  I  shan't 
need  it  again  for  some  time."  He  picked  up  and  re- 
stored the  phial  to  his  pocket.  "  Now  let  me  think  a 
bit."  He  took  a  quick  turn  up  the  room  and  down 
again.  Amber  remarked  that  the  medicine  was  having 
its  effect ;  though  the  brilliance  of  Rutton's  eyes  seemed 
somewhat  dimmed  a  dull  flush  had  crept  into  his  dark 
cheeks,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  stronger  accents — 
with  a  manner  more  assured,  composed. 

"  A  mad  dance,"  he  observed  thoughtfully :  "  this 
thing  we  call  life.  We  meet  and  whirl  asunder — 
motes  in  a  sunbeam.  To-night  Destiny  chose  to  throw 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  83 

us  together  for  a  little  space ;  to-morrow  we  shall  be  ir- 
revocably parted,  for  all  time." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Rutton." 

"  It  is  so  written,  David."  The  man's  smile  was 
strangely  placid.  "  After  this  night,  we'll  never  meet. 
In  the  morning  Doggott  will  ferry  you  over " 

"  Shan't  we  go  together?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rutton  serenely ;  "  I  must  leave  before 
you." 

"  Without  Doggott?  " 

"  Without  Doggott ;  I  wish  him  to  go  with  you." 

"Where?" 

"  On  the  errand  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  for  me. 
You  are  free  to  leave  this  country  for  several  months  ?  " 

"  Quite.  I  corrected  the  final  galleys  of  my  *  Analy- 
sis of  Sanskrit  Literature '  just  before  I  came  down. 
Now  I've  nothing  on  my  mind — or  hands.  Go  on." 

"  Wait."  Rutton  went  a  second  time  to  the  leather 
trunk,  lifted  the  lid,  and  came  back  with  two  small  par- 
cels. The  one,  which  appeared  to  contain  documents  of 
some  sort,  he  cast  negligently  on  the  fire,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  destroys  that  which  is  no  longer  of  value  to 
him.  It  caught  immediately  and  began  to  flame  and 
smoke  and  smoulder.  The  other  was  several  inches 
square  and  flat,  wrapped  in  plain  paper,  without  a 
superscription,  and  sealed  with  several  heavy  blobs  of 
red  wax. 

Rutton  drew  a  chair  close  to  Amber  and  sat  down, 
breaking  the  seals  methodically. 

"  You  shall  go  a  long  journey,  David,"  he  said 
slowly — "  a  long  journey,  to  a  far  land,  where  you  shall 


84  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

brave  perils  that  I  may  not  warn  you  against.  It  will 
put  your  friendship  to  the  test." 

"  I'm  ready." 

The  elder  man  ripped  the  cover  from  the  packet,  ex- 
posing the  back  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  photograph. 
Holding  this  to  the  light,  its  face  invisible  to  Amber,  he 
studied  it  for  several  minutes,  in  silence,  a  tender  light 
kindling  in  his  eyes  to  soften  the  almost  ascetic  austerity 
of  his  expression.  "  In  the  end,  if  you  live,  you  shall 
win  a  rich  reward,"  he  said  at  length.  He  placed  the 
photograph  face  down  upon  the  table. 

"  How — a  reward  ?  " 

"  The  love  of  a  woman  worthy  of  you,  David." 

"  But !  "  In  consternation  Amber  rose,  almost 

knocking  over  his  chair.  "  But — Great  Scott,  man !  " 

"  Bear  with  me,  David,  for  yet  a  little  while,"  Rutton 
begged.  "  Sit  down." 

"  All  right,  but !  "  Amber  resumed  his  seat, 

staring. 

"  You  and  Doggott  are  to  seek  her  out,  wherever  she 
may  be,  and  rescue  her  from  what  may  be  worse  than 
death.  And  it  shall  come  to  pass  that  you  shall  love 
one  another  and  marry  and  live  happily  ever  after — 
just  as  though  you  were  a  prince  and  she  an  enchanted 
princess  in  a  fairy  tale,  David." 

"  I  must  say  you  seem  pretty  damn'  sure  about  it !  " 

"  It  must  be  so,  David ;  it  shall  be  so !  I  am  an  old 
man — older  than  you  think,  perhaps — and  with  age 
there  sometimes  comes  something  strangely  akin  to  the 
gift  of  second-sight.  So  I  know  it  will  be  so,  though 
you  think  me  a  madman." 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  85 

"  I  don't,  indeed,  but  you  .  .  .  Well !  I  give  it 
up."  Amber  laughed  uneasily.  "  Go  on.  Where's  this 
maiden  in  distress?  " 

"  In  India — I'm  not  sure  just  where.  You'll  find  her, 
however." 

"  And  then ?  " 

"  Then  you  are  to  bring  her  home  with  you,  without 
delay." 

"  But  suppose " 

"  You  must  win  her  first ;  then  she  will  come  gladly." 

"  But  I've  just  told  you  I  loved  another  woman,  Rut- 
ton,  and  besides " 

"  You  mean  the  Miss  Farrell  you  mentioned?  " 

"Yes.     I " 

"  That  will  be  no  obstacle." 

"What!  How  in  thunder  d'you  know  it  won't?" 
Amber  expostulated.  A  faint  suspicion  of  the  truth 
quickened  his  wits.  "  Who  is  this  woman  you  want  me 
to  marry?  " 

"  My  daughter." 

"  Your  daughter !  " 

"  My  only  child,  David." 

"  Then  why  won't  my — my  love  for  Sophia  Farrell 
interfere?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Rutton  slowly,  "  my  daughter  and 
Sophia  Farrell  are  the  same.  .  .  .  No;  listen  to  me; 
I'm  not  raving.  Here  is  my  proof — her  latest  photo- 
graph." He  put  it  into  Amber's  hands. 

Dazed,  the  younger  man  stared  blankly  at  the  like- 
ness of  the  woman  he  loved;  it  was  unquestionably  she. 
Fair,  sweet,  and  imperious,  her  face  looked  up  to  his 


86  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

from  the  bit  of  cardboard  in  his  hands ;  the  direct  and 
fearless  eyes  met  his — eyes  frank,  virginal,  and  serene, 
beautiful  with  the  beauty  of  a  soul  as  unsullied  and  un- 
troubled as  the  soul  of  a  child. 

He  gasped,  trembling,  astounded.  "  Sophia  .  .  . ! " 
he  said  thickly,  colouring  hotly.  He  was  conscious  of 
a  tightening  of  his  throat  muscles,  making  speech  a 
matter  of  difficulty.  "  But — but "  he  stammered. 

"  Her  mother,"  said  Rutton  softly,  looking  away, 
"  was  a  Russian  noblewoman.  Sophia  is  Farrell's 
daughter  by  adoption  only.  Farrell  was  once  my 
closest  friend.  When  my  wife  died  .  .  ."  He  cov- 
ered his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  remained  silent  for  a 
few  seconds.  "  When  Sophia  was  left  motherless,  an 
infant  in  arms,  Farrell  offered  to  adopt  her.  Because 
I  became,  about  that  time,  aware  of  this  horror  that 
has  poisoned  my  life — this  thing  of  which  you  have 
seen  something  to-night — I  accepted  on  condition  that 
the  truth  be  never  revealed  to  her.  It  cost  me  the 
friendship  of  Farrell;  he  was  then  but  lately  married 
and — and  I  thought  it  dangerous  to  be  seen  with  him 
too  much.  I  left  England,  having  settled  upon  my 
daughter  the  best  part  of  my  fortune,  retaining  only 
enough  for  my  needs.  From  that  day  I  never  saw  her 
or  heard  from  Farrell.  Yet  I  knew  I  could  trust  him. 
Last  summer,  when  my  daughter  was  presented  at 
Court,  I  was  in  London ;  I  discovered  the  name  of  her 
photographer  and  bribed  him  to  sell  me  this."  He  in- 
dicated the  photograph. 

"  And  she  doesn't  know !  " 

"  She  must  never  know."    Rutton  leaned  forward  and 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  87 

caught  Amber's  hand  in  a  compelling  grasp.  "  Remem- 
ber that.  Whatever  you  do,  my  name  must  never  pass 
your  lips — with  reference  to  herself,  at  least.  No  one 
must  even  suspect  that  you  know  me — Farrell  least  of 
all." 

"  Sophia  knows  that  now,"  said  Amber.  "  Quain  and 
I  spoke  of  you  one  night,  but  the  name  made  no  im- 
pression on  her.  I'm  sure  of  that." 

"  That  is  good ;  Farrell  has  been  true.  Now  .  .  . 
you  will  go  to  India  ?  " 

"  I  will  go,"  Amber  promised. 

"  You  will  be  kind  to  her,  and  true,  David?  You'll 
love  her  faithfully  and  make  her  love  you?  " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  the  young  man  humbly. 

"  It  must  be  so — she  must  be  taught  to  love  you. 
It  is  essential,  imperative,  that  she  marry  you  and  leave 
India  with  you  without  a  day's  delay." 

Amber  sat  back  in  his  chair,  breathing  quickly,  his 
mouth  tense.  "I'll  do  my  best.  But,  Rutton,  why? 
Won't  you  tell  me?  Shouldn't  I  know — I,  who  am  to 
be  her  husband,  her  protector?  " 

"  Not  from  me.  I  am  bound  by  an  oath,  David. 
Some  day  it  may  be  that  you  will  know.  Perhaps  not. 
You  may  guess  what  you  will — you  have  much  to  go 
on.  But  from  me,  nothing.  Now,  let  us  settle  the  de- 
tails. I've  very  little  time."  He  glanced  again  at  the 
shoddy  tin  clock,  with  a  slight  but  noticeable  shiver. 

"How's  that?     It's  hours  till  morning." 

"  I  shall  never  see  the  dawn,  David,"  said  Rutton 
quietly. 

"  What " 


88  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  I  have  but  ten  minutes  more  of  life.  ...  If  you 
must  know — in  a  word :  poison.  .  .  .  That  I  be  saved 
a  blacker  sin,  David !  " 

"  You  mean  that  medicine — the  silver  phial?  "  Amber 
stammered,  sick  with  horror. 

"Yes.  Don't  be  alarmed;  it's  slow  but  sure  and 
painless,  dear  boy.  It  works  infallibly  within  half  an 
hour.  There'll  be  no  agony — merely  the  drawing  of 
the  curtain.  Best  of  all,  it  leaves  no  traces ;  a  diagnos- 
tician would  call  it  heart-failure.  .  .  .  And  thus  I 
escape  that."  He  nodded  coolly  toward  the  door. 

"  But  this  must  not  be,  Rutton ! "  Amber  rose  sud- 
denly, pushing  back  his  chair.  "  Something  must  be 
done.  "Doggott " 

"  Not  so  loud,  please — you  might  alarm  him.  After 
it's  all  over,  call  him.  But  now — it's  useless;  the 
thing  is  done;  there's  no  known  antidote.  Be  kind  to 
me,  David,  in  this  hour  of  mine  extremity.  There's 
much  still  to  be  said  between  us  ...  and  in  seven 
minutes  more  ..." 

Rutton  retained  his  clutch  upon  Amber's  hand;  and 
his  eyes,  their  lustre  dimmed,  held  Amber's,  pitiful,  pas- 
sionate, inexorable  in  their  entreaty.  Amber  sat  down, 
his  soul  shaken  with  the  pity  of  it. 

"  Ah-h !  "  sighed  Rutton.  Relieved,  the  tension  re- 
laxed ;  he  released  Amber's  hand ;  his  body  sank  a  little 
in  the  chair.  Becoming  conscious  of  this,  he  pulled  him- 
self together.  ..."  Enter  India  by  way  of  Cal- 
cutta," he  said  in  a  dull  and  heavy  voice.  "  There,  in 
the  Machua  Bazaar,  you  will  find  a  goldsmith  and 
money-lender  called  Dhola  Baksh.  Go  to  him  secretly, 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  89 

show  him  the  ring — the  Token.  He  will  understand  and 
do  all  in  his  power  to  aid  you,  should  there  be  any 
trouble  about  your  leaving  with  Sophia.  To  no  one 
else  in  India  are  you  to  mention  my  name.  Deny  me,  if 
taxed  with  knowing  me.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"No.     Why?" 

"  Never  mind — but  remember  these  two  things :  you 
do  not  know  me  and  you  must  under  no  circumstances 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  police.  They  could  do 
nothing  to  help  you;  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  seen 
with  them,  to  have  it  known  that  you  communicate 
with  them,  would  be  the  equivalent  of  a  seal  upon 
your  death  warrant.  You  remember  the  money-lender's 
name  ?  " 

"  Dhola  Baksh  of  the  Machua  Bazaar." 

"  Trust  him — and  trust  Doggott.  .  .  .  Four  min- 
utes more ! " 

"  Rutton !  "  cried  Amber  in  a  broken  voice.  Cold 
sweat  broke  out  upon  his  forehead. 

The  man  smiled  fearlessly.  "  Believe  me,  this  is  the 
better  way — the  only  way.  .  .  .  Some  day  you  may 
meet  a  little  chap  named  Labertouche — a  queer  fish 
I  once  knew  in  Calcutta.  But  I  daresay  he's  dead 
by  now.  But  if  you  should  meet  him,  tell  him  that  you've 
seen  his  B-Formula  work  flawlessly  in  one  instance  at 
least.  You  see,  he  dabbled  in  chemistry  and  entomology 
and  a  lot  of  uncommon  pursuits — a  solicitor  by  pro- 
fession, he  never  seemed  to  have  any  practice  to  speak 
of — and  he  invented  this  stuff  and  named  it  the 
B-Formula."  Rutton  tapped  the  silver  phial  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  smiling  faintly.  "  He  was  a  good 


90  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

little  man.  .  .  .  Two  minutes.  Strange  how  little 
one  cares,  when  it's  inevitable.  .  .  ." 

He  ceased  to  speak  and  closed  his  eyes.  A  great  still- 
ness made  itself  felt  within  the  room.  In  the  other, 
Doggott  was  silent — probably  asleep.  Amber  noted 
the  fact  subconsciously,  even  as  he  was  aware  that  the 
high  fury  of  the  wind  was  moderating.  But  consciously 
he  was  bowed  down  with  sorrow,  inexpressibly  racked. 

In  the  hush  the  metallic  hammering  of  the  mean  tin 
clock  rang  loud  and  harsh;  Amber's  heart  seemed  to 
beat  in  funeral  time  to  its  steady,  unhurried,  immutable 
ticking. 

It  was  close  upon  two  in  the  morning. 

"  Amber,"  said  Rutton  suddenly  and  very  clearly, 
"  you'll  find  a  will  in  my  despatch  box.  Doggott  is  to 
have  all  I  possess.  The  emerald  ring — the  Token — I 
give  to  you." 

"  Yes,  I— I " 

"Your  hand.  .  .  .  Mine  is  cold?  No?  I  fancied 
it  was,"  said  the  man  drowsily.  And  later :  "  Sophia. 
You  will  be  kind  to  her,  David?  " 

"  On  my  faith !  " 

Rutton's  fingers  tightened  cruelly  upon  his,  then  re- 
laxed suddenly.  He  began  to  nod,  his  chin  drooping 
toward  his  breast. 

"The  Gateway   .    .   :.   the  Bell   ..." 

The  words  were  no  more  than  whispers  dying  on  lips 
that  stilled  as  they  spoke. 

For  a  long  time  Amber  sat  unmoving,  his  fingers  im- 
prisoned in  that  quiet,  cooling  grasp,  his  thoughts 
astray  in  a  black  mist  of  mourning  and  bewilderment. 


THE  GOBLIN  NIGHT  91 

Through  the  hush  of  death  the  tin  clock  ticked  on, 
placidly,  monotonously,  complacently.  In  the  fireplace 
a  charred  log  broke  with  a  crash  and  a  shower  of  live 
cinders. 

Out  of  doors  something  made  a  circuit  of  the  cabin, 
like  a  beast  of  the  night,  stealthy  footsteps  muffled  by 
the  snow:  pad — pad — pad  .  .  . 

In  the  emerald  ring  on  Amber's  finger  the  deathless 
fire  leaped  and  pulsed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

RED    DAWN 

PRESENTLY  Amber  rose  and  quietly  exchanged  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers  for  his  own  shooting- j  acket  and 
boots — which  by  now  were  dry,  thanks  to  Doggott's 
thoughtfulness  in  placing  them  near  the  fire. 

The  shabby  tin  clock  had  droned  through  thirty  min- 
utes since  Rutton  had  spoken  his  last  word.  In  that 
interval,  sitting  face  to  face,  and  for  a  little  time  hand 
in  hand,  with  the  man  to  whom  he  had  pledged  his 
honour,  Amber  had  thought  deeply,  carefully  weighing 
ways  and  means;  nor  did  he  move  until  he  believed  his 
plans  mature  and  definite. 

But  before  he  could  take  one  step  toward  redeeming 
his  word  to  Rutton,  he  had  many  cares  to  dispose  of. 
In  the  hut,  Rutton  lay  dead  of  poison;  somewhere 
amongst  the  dunes  the  babu  lay  in  his  blood,  shot  to 
death — foully  murdered,  the  world  would  say.  Should 
these  things  become  known,  he  would  be  detained  in- 
definitely in  Nokomis  as  a  witness — if,  indeed,  he 
escaped  a  graver  charge. 

It  was,  then,  with  a  mind  burdened  with  black  anxiety 
that  he  went  to  arouse  Doggott. 

The  rear  room  proved  to  be  as  cheerless  as  the  other. 
Of  approximately  the  same  dimensions,  it  too  had  been 
furnished  with  little  regard  for  anything  but  the  barest 
conveniences  of  camp-life.  It  contained  a  small  sheet- 

92 


RED  DAWN  93 

iron  stove  for  cooking,  a  table,  a  rack  of  shelves,  two 
chairs,  and  a  rickety  cot-bed  in  addition  to  another 
trunk.  On  the  table  a  tin  kerosene-lamp  had  burned 
low,  poisoning  the  air  with  its  bitter  reek.  On  the  cot 
Doggott  sprawled  in  his  clothing,  his  strained  position 
— half  reclining,  feet  upon  the  floor — suggesting  an 
uncontemplated  surrender  to  fatigue.  His  face  was 
flushed  and  he  was  breathing  heavily. 

The  Virginian  stood  over  him  for  several  minutes  be- 
fore he  could  bring  himself  to  the  point  of  awakening 
the  man  to  the  news  of  Rutton's  death.  Aware  of  that 
steadfast  loyalty  which  Doggott  had  borne  his  master 
through  many  years  of  service,  he  shrank  with  con- 
ceivable reluctance  from  the  duty.  But  necessity  drove 
him  with  a  taut  rein ;  and  finally  he  bent  over  and  shook 
the  sleeper  by  the  shoulder. 

With  a  jerk  the  man  sat  up  and  recognised  Amber. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  muttered,  lifting  himself  slug- 
gishly ;  "  I  didn't  mean  to  fall  asleep — I'd  only  sat 
down  for  a  moment's  rest.  Has — has  anything  gone 
bad,  sir?  "  he  added  hastily,  remarking  with  troubled 
eyes  the  sympathy  and  concern  in  Amber's  expression. 

Amber  looked  away.  "  Mr.  Rutton  is  dead,  Dog- 
gott," he  managed  to  say  with  some  difficulty. 

Doggott  exclaimed  beneath  his  breath.  "  Dead !  "  he 
cried  in  a  tone  of  daze.  In  two  strides  he  had  left 
Amber  and  was  kneeling  by  Rutton's  side.  The  most 
cursory  examination,  however,  sufficed  to  resolve  his 
every  doubt :  the  hanging  head  and  arms,  the  livid  face 
with  its  staring  yet  sightless  eyes,  the  shrunken  figure 
seeming  so  pitifully  slight  and  unsubstantial  in  com- 


94  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

parison  with  its  accustomed  strong  and  virile  poise, 
hopelessly  confirmed  Amber's  statement. 

"  Dead !  "  whispered  the  servant.  He  rose  and  stood 
swaying,  his  lips  a-tremble,  his  eyes  blinking  through  a 
mist,  his  head  bowed.  "  'E  always  was  uncommon'  good 
to  me,  Mr.  Amber,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  It's  a  bit  'ard, 

comin'  this  w'y.    'Ow — 'ow  did  it "    He  broke  down 

completely  for  a  time,  and  staggered  away  to  the  wall, 
there  to  stand  with  his  head  pillowed  on  his  crossed 
forearms. 

When  he  had  himself  in  more  control  Amber  told  him 
as  briefly  as  possible  of  the  head  at  the  window  and  of 
its  sequel — Button's  despairing  suicide. 

Doggott  listened  in  silence,  nodding  his  comprehension. 
"  I've  always  looked  for  it,  sir,"  he  commented.  "  'E'd 
warned  me  never  to  touch  that  silver  tube ;  'e  never  said 
poison,  but  I  suspected  it,  'e  being  blue  and  melancholy- 
like,  by  fits  and  turns — 'e  never  told  me  why." 

Then,  reverently,  they  took  up  the  body  and  laid  it 
out  upon  the  hammock-bed,  Doggott  arranging  the 
limbs  and  closing  the  eyes  before  spreading  a  sheet  over 
the  rigid  form. 

"  And  now,  what,  Mr.  Amber  ?  "  he  asked. 

Amber  had  returned  to  the  table.  He  pondered  his 
problems  for  some  time  before  answering;  a  distasteful 
duty  devolved  upon  him  of  questioning  the  servant  about 
his  master's  secrets,  of  delving  into  the  mystery  which 
Button  had  chosen  always  to  preserve  about  himself — 
which,  indeed,  he  had  chosen  to  die  without  disclosing  to 
the  man  whom  he  had  termed  his  sole  intimate.  Yet  this 
task,  too,  must  be  gone  through  with. 


RED  DAWN  95 

"  Mr.  Rutton  spoke  of  a  despatch-box,  Doggott. 
You  know  where  to  find  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  servant  brought  from  Rutton's  leather  trunk  a 
battered  black- j  apanned  tin  box,  which,  upon  explora- 
tion, proved  to  contain  little  that  might  not  have  been 
anticipated.  A  bankbook  issued  by  the  house  of  Roth- 
schild Freres,  Paris,  showed  a  balance  to  the  credit  of 
H.  D.  Rutton  of  something  slightly  under  a  million 
francs.  There  was  American  money,  chiefly  in  gold 
certificates  of  large  denominations,  to  the  value  of, 
roundly,  twenty  thousand  dollars,  together  with  a  hand- 
ful of  French,  German  and  English  bank-notes  which 
might  have  brought  in  exchange  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  In  addition  to  these  there  was  merely  a 
single  envelope,  superscribed :  "  To  be  opened  in  event  of 
my  death  only.  H.  D.  R." 

Amber  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  enclosures  once  to 
himself  and  a  second  time  aloud  to  Doggott.  The  date 
was  barely  a  year  old. 

"  For  reasons  personal  to  myself  and  sufficient,"  Rut- 
ton  had  written,  "  I  choose  not  to  make  a  formal  will. 
I  shall  die,  probably  in  the  near  future,  by  my  own 
hand,  of  poison.  I  wish  to  emphasise  this  statement  in 
event  the  circumstances  surrounding  my  demise  should 
appear  to  attach  suspicion  of  murder  upon  any  person 
or  persons  whatever.  I  am  a  widower  and  childless. 
What  relations  may  survive  me  are  distant  and  will 
never  appear  to  claim  what  estate  I  may  leave — this 
I  know.  I  therefore  desire  that  my  body-servant,  Henry 
Doggott,  an  English  citizen,  shall  inherit  and  appro- 


96  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

priate  to  his  own  use  all  my  property  and  effects,  pro- 
viding he  be  in  my  service  at  the  time  of  my  death.  To 
facilitate  his  entering  into  possession  of  my  means,  what- 
ever they  may  be,  without  the  necessity  of  legal  pro- 
cedure of  any  kind,  I  enclose  a  cheque  to  his  order  upon 
my  bankers,  signed  by  myself  and  bearing  the  date  of 
this  memorandum.  He  is  to  fill  it  in  with  the  amount 
remaining  to  my  credit  upon  my  bank-book.  Should  he 
have  died  or  left  me,  however,  the  disposition  of  my  ef- 
fects is  a  matter  about  which  I  am  wholly  careless." 

The  signature  was  unmistakably  genuine — the  for- 
mal "  H.  D.  Rutton  "  with  which  Amber  was  familiar. 
It  was  unwitnessed. 

The  Virginian  put  aside  the  paper  and  offered  Dog- 
gott  the  blank  cheque  on  Rothschilds'.  "  This,"  he  said, 
"  makes  you  pretty  nearly  independently  rich,  Dog- 
gott." 

"  Yes,  sir."  Doggott  took  the  slip  of  paper  in  a 
hand  that  trembled  even  as  his  voice,  and  eyed  it  in- 
credulously. "  I've  never  'ad  anything  like  this  before, 
sir ;  I  'ardly  know  what  it  means." 

"  It  means,"  explained  Amber,  "  that,  when  you've 
filled  in  that  blank  and  had  the  money  collected  from 
the  Rothschilds,  you'll  be  worth — with  what  cash  is  here 
— in  the  neighbourhood  of  forty-five  thousand  pounds 
sterling." 

Doggott  gasped,  temporarily  inarticulate.  "  Forty- 
five  thousand  pounds !  .  .  .  Mr.  Amber,"  he  declared 
earnestly,  "  I  never  looked  for  nothin'  like  this  I — 

I  never — I "  Quite  without  warning  he  was  quiet 

and  composed  again.  "  Might  I  ask  it  of  you  as  a 


RED  DAWN  97 

favour,  sir,  to  look  after  this  " — he  offered  to  return 
the  cheque — "  for  a  while,  till  I  can  myke  up  my  mind 
what  to  do  with  it." 

"  Certainly."  Amber  took  the  paper,  folded  it  and 
placed  it  in  his  card-case.  "  I'd  suggest  that  you  de- 
posit it  as  soon  as  possible  in  a  New  York  bank  for  col- 
lection. In  the  meantime,  these  bills  are  yours;  you'd 
better  take  care  of  them  yourself  until  you  open  the 
banking  account.  I'll  keep  Mr.  Button's  bank-book 
with  the  cheque."  He  placed  the  book  in  his  pocket 
with  the  singular  document  Rutton  had  called  his 
"  will,"  and  motioned  Doggott  to  possess  himself  of  the 
money  in  the  despatch-box. 

"  It'll  keep  as  well  in  'ere  as  anywheres,"  Doggott 
considered,  relocking  the  box.  "  I  'aven't  'ardly  any 
use  for  money,  except,  of  course,  to  tide  me  over  till  I 
find  another  position." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Amber  in  amaze. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  affirmed  Doggott  respectfully.  "  I'm  a 
bit  too  old  to  chynge  my  w'ys ;  a  valet  I've  been  all  my 
life  and  a  valet  I'll  die,  sir.  It's  too  lyte  to  think  of  any- 
thing else." 

"  But  with  this  money,  Doggott " 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  know ;  I  could  live  easy  like 
a  gentleman  if  I  liked — but  I  wouldn't  be  a  gentle- 
man, so  what's  the  use  of  that?  I  could  go  'ome  and 
buy  me  a  public-'ouse ;  but  that  wouldn't  do  neither. 
I'd  not  be  'appy;  if  you'll  pardon  my  s'ying  so,  I've 
associated  too  long  with  gentlemen  and  gentlemen's  gen- 
tlemen to  feel  at  ease,  so  to  speak,  with  the  kind  that 
'angs  round  publics.  So  the  w'y  I  look  at  it,  there's 


98  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

naught  for  me  but  go  on  valeting  until  I'm  too  old; 
after  that  the  money'll  be  a  comfort,  I  dares'y.  .  .  . 
Don't  you  think  so,  sir?  " 

"  I  believe  you're  right,  Doggott ;  only,  your  com- 
mon-sense surprises  me.  But  it  makes  it  easier  in  a 
way.  .  .  ."  Amber  fell  thoughtful  again. 

"  'Ow's  that,  sir— if  I  m'y  ask?  " 

"  This  way,"  said  Amber :  "  Before  he  died,  Mr. 
Rutton  asked  me  to  do  him  a  service.  I  agreed.  He 
suggested  that  I  take  you  with  me." 

"  I'm  ready,  sir,"  interrupted  Doggott  eagerly. 
"  There's  no  gentleman  I'd  like  to  valet  for  better  than 
yourself." 

"  But  there  will  be  dangers,  Doggott — I  don't 
know  precisely  what.  That's  the  rub:  we'll  have  to 
travel  half-way  round  the  world  and  face  unknown 
perils.  If  Mr.  Rutton  were  right  about  it,  we'll  be  lucky 
to  get  away  with  our  lives." 

"  I'll  go,  sir ;  it  was  'is  wish.  I'll  go  with  you  to 
India,  Mr.  Amber." 

"  Very  well.  .  .  ."  Amber  spoke  abstractedly,  re- 
viewing his  plans.  "  But,"  he  enquired  suddenly,  "  I 
didn't  mention  India.  How  did  you  know ?  " 

"  Why — I  suppose  I  must  'ave  guessed  it,  sir.  It 
seemed  so  likely,  knowing  what  I  do  about  Mr.  Rutton." 

Amber  sat  silent,  unable  to  bring  himself  to  put  a 
single  question  in  regard  to  the  dead  man's  antecedents. 
But  after  a  pause  the  servant  continued  voluntarily. 

"  He  always  'ad  a  deal  to  do  with  persons  who  came 
from  India — niggers — I  mean,  natives.  It  didn't  much 
matter  where  we'd  be — London  or  Paris  or  Berh'n  or 


RED  DAWN  99 

Rome — they'd  'unt  'im  up ;  some  Vd  give  money  to  and 
they'd  go  aw'y ;  others  'e'd  be  locked  up  with  in  'is 
study  for  hours,  talking,  talking.  They'd  'ardly  ever 
come  the  same  one  twice.  'E  'ated  'em  all,  Mr.  Rutton 
did.  And  yet,  sir,  I  always  'ad  a  suspicion " 

Doggott  hesitated,  lowering  his  voice,  his  gaze  shift- 
ing uneasily  to  the  still,  shrouded  figure  in  the  corner. 

"  What  ?  "  demanded  Amber  tensely. 

"  I  alw'ys  thought  per'aps  'e  was  what  we  call  in 
England  a  man  of  colour,  'imself,  sir." 

"  Doggott !  " 

"  I  don't  mean  no  'arm,  sir ;  it  was  just  their  'ounding 
him,  like,  and  'is  being  a  dark-complected  man  the  syme 
as  them,  and  speakin'  their  language  so  ready,  that 
made  me  think  it.  At  least  'e  might  'ave  'ad  a  little  of 
their  blood  in  'im,  sir.  Things  'd  seem  unaccountable 
otherwise,"  concluded  Doggott  vaguely. 

"  It's  impossible !  "  cried  Amber. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  at  least,  I  mean  I  'ope  so,  sir.  Not  that 
it  'd  myke  any  difference  to  me,  the  w'y  I  felt  towards 
'im.  'E  was  a  gentleman,  white  or  black.  I'd  've  died 
for  'im  any  d'y." 

"  Doggott !  "  The  Virginian  had  risen  and  was  pac- 
ing excitedly  to  and  fro.  "  Doggott !  don't  ever  repeat 
one  word  of  this  to  man  or  woman — while  you're  faith- 
ful to  the  memory  of  Mr.  Rutton." 

The  servant  stared,  visibly  impressed.  "  Very  good, 
Mr.  Amber.  I'll  remember,  sir.  I  don't  ordinarily  gos- 
sip, sir ;  but  you  and  him  being  so  thick,  and  everything 
'appening  to-night  so  'orrible,  I  forgot  myself.  I  'ope 
you'll  excuse  me,  sir." 


100  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  God  in  Heaven ! "  cried  the  young  man  hoarsely. 
"  It  can't  be  true !  "  He  flung  himself  into  his  chair, 
burying  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  It  can't !  " 

Yet  irresistibly  the  conviction  was  being  forced  upon 
him  that  Doggott  had  surmised  aright.  Circumstance 
backed  up  circumstance  within  his  knowledge  of  or  his 
experience  with  the  man,  all  seeming  to  prove  incontest- 
ably  the  truth  of  what  at  the  first  blush  had  seemed  so 
incredible.  What  did  he,  Amber,  know  of  Rutton's  par- 
entage or  history  that  would  refute  the  calm  belief  of 
the  body-servant  of  the  dead  man?  Rutton  himself 
had  consistently  kept  sealed  lips  upon  the  subject  of 
his  antecedents;  in  Amber's  intercourse  with  him  the 
understanding  that  what  had  passed  was  a  closed  book 
had  been  implicit.  But  it  had  never  occurred  to  Amber 
to  question  the  man's  title  to  the  blood  of  the  Caucasian 
peoples.  Not  that  the  mystery  with  which  Rutton  had 
ever  shrouded  his  identity  had  not  inevitably  of  itself 
been  a  provocation  to  Amber's  imagination;  he  had 
hazarded  many  an  idle,  secret  guess  at  the  riddle  that 
was  Rutton.  Who  or  what  the  man  was  or  might  have 
been  was  ever  a  field  of  fascinating  speculation  to  the 
American,  but  his  wildest  conjecture  had  never  travelled 
east  of  Italy  or  Hungary.  He  had  always  fancied  that 
one,  at  least,  of  Rutton's  parents  had  been  a  native  of 
the  European  Continent.  He  had  even,  at  a  certain 
time  when  his  imagination  had  been  stimulated  by  the 
witchery  of  "Lavengro"  and  "The  Romany  Rye," 
gone  so  far  as  to  wonder  if,  perchance,  Rutton  were  not 
descended  from  Gipsy  stock — a  fancy  which  he  was 
quick  to  dismiss  as  absurd.  Yet  now  it  seemed  as  if  he 


RED  DAWN  101 

had  not  been  far  wrong;  if  Doggott  were  right — and 
Amber  had  come  to  believe  that  the  valet  was  right — 
it  was  no  far  cry  from  the  Hindu  to  the  Romany,  both 
offshoots  of  the  Aryan  root. 

And  then  Amber's  intelligence  was  smitten  by  a 
thought  as  by  a  club ;  and  he  began  to  tremble  violently, 
uncontrollably,  being  weakened  by  fatigue  and  the 
strain  of  that  endless,  terrible  night.  A  strangled  cry 
escaped  him  without  his  knowledge :  "  Sophia ! " 

Sophia  Farrell,  the  woman  he  had  promised  to  wed, 
nay  even  the  woman  he  loved  with  all  his  being — a  half- 
breed,  a  mulatto!  His  mind  sickened  with  the  horror 
of  that  thought.  All  the  inbred  contempt  of  the  South- 
erner for  the  servile  races  surged  up  to  overwhelm  his 
passion,  to  make  it  seem  more  than  impossible,  revolting, 
that  the  mistress  of  his  dreams  should  be  a  creature 
tainted  by  the  blood  of  a  brown-skinned  people.  Though 
her  mother  had  been  of  noble  Russian  family,  as  her 
father  had  declared;  though  her  secret  were  contained 
in  his  knowledge  and  Farrell's  alone,  and  though  it 
were  to  be  preserved  by  them  ever  inviolate — could  he, 
David  Amber,  ever  forget  it?  Could  he  make  her  his 
bride  and  take  her  home  to  his  mother  and  his  sisters  in 
Virginia — offer  them  as  daughter  and  sister  a  woman 
who,  though  she  were  fairer  than  the  dawn,  was  in  part 
a  product  of  intermarriage  between  white  and  black? 

His  very  soul  seemed  to  shudder  and  his  reason  cried 
out  that  the  thing  could  never  be.  ...  Yet  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  still  he  loved  her,  still  desired  her  with 
all  his  strength  and  will ;  in  his  heart  there  was  no  wav- 
ering. Whatever  Rutton  had  been,  whatever  his  daugh- 


102  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ter  might  be,  he  loved  her.  And  more,  the  honour  of 
the  Ambers  was  in  pledge,  holding  him  steadfast  to  his 
purpose  to  seek  her  out  in  India  or  wherever  she  might 
be  and  to  bear  her  away  from  the  unnamed  danger  that 
threatened  her — even  to  marry  her,  if  she  would  have 
him.  He  had  promised;  his  word  had  passed;  there 
could  now  be  no  withdrawal.  .  .  . 

An  hour  elapsed,  its  passing  raucously  emphasised  by 
the  tin  clock.  Amber  remained  at  the  table,  his  head 
upon  it,  his  face  hidden  by  his  arms,  so  still  that  Dog- 
gott  would  have  thought  him  sleeping  but  for  his  un- 
even breathing. 

On  tiptoe  the  man-servant  moved  in  and  out  of  the 
room,  making  ready  for  the  day,  mechanically  carry- 
ing out  his  dead  master's  last  instructions,  to  pack  up 
against  an  early  departing.  His  face  was  grave  and 
sorrowful  and  now  and  again  he  paused  in  the  midst  of 
his  preparations  to  watch  for  an  instant  the  sheeted  form 
upon  the  hammock-bed,  his  head  bowed,  his  eyes  filling ; 
or  to  cast  a  sympathetic  glance  at  the  back  and  shoul- 
ders of  the  living,  his  new  employer.  In  his  day  Dog- 
gott  had  known  trouble ;  he  was  ignorant  of  the  cause, 
but  now  intuitively  he  divined  that  Amber  was  suffering 
mental  torment  indescribable  and  beyond  his  power  to 
assuage. 

At  length  the  young  man  called  him  and  Doggott 
found  him  sitting  up,  with  a  haggard  and  careworn  face 
but  with  the  sane  light  of  a  mind  composed  in  his  eyes. 

"  Doggott,"  he  asked  in  an  even,  toneless  voice,  "  have 
you  ever  mentioned  to  anybody  your  suspicion  about 
Mr.  Button's  race?" 


Copyright,  1904,  by  Dodd,  M«*d  A  Compan 


SOPHIA    FARRELL 


RED  DAWN  103 

"  Only  to  you,  sir." 

"  That's  good.    And  you  won't?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Hate  you,"  continued  Amber,  looking  away  and 
speaking  slowly,  "  ever  heard  him  mention  his  mar- 
riage? " 

"  Never,  sir.  'E  says  in  that  paper  'e  was  a  widower ; 
I  fancy  the  lady  must  have  died  before  I  entered  'is 
service.  'E  was  always  a  lonely  man,  all  the  fifteen  year 
I've  been  with  'im,  keepin'  very  much  to  'imself,  sir." 

"  He  never  spoke  of  a — daughter  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.    Didn't  'e  say  'e  was  childless?  " 

"  Yes.  I  merely  wondered.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  now,  do 
you  know  of  any  letters  or  papers  of  his  that  we  should 
destroy?  If  there  are  any,  he  would  wish  us  to." 

"  'E  never  'ad  many,  sir.  What  letters  'e  got  'e  an- 
swered right  away  and  destroyed  'em.  There  was  a 
little  packet  in  'is  trunk,  but  I  see  that's  gone." 

"  He  burned  it  himself  this  evening.  There's  nothing 
else?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,  sir." 

"  That's  all  right,  then.  We  have  nothing  to  do 
but  .  .  .  see  that  he's  decently  buried  and  get  away 
as  soon  as  we  can.  There's  no  time  to  lose.  It's  after 

four,  now,  and  as  soon  as  it's  daylight You  must 

have  a  boat  somewhere  about?  " 

"  Yes,  sir-.  Mr.  Rutton  'ad  me  'ire  a  little  power 
launch  before  'e  came  down.  It's  down  by  the  bayside, 
'alf  a  mile  aw'y." 

"  Very  well.  The  wind  is  dying  down  and  by  sunrise 
the  bay  will  be  safe  to  cross — if  it  isn't  now.  These 


104  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

shallow  waters  smoothe  out  very  quickly.  We'll " 

He  cut  his  words  short  and  got  up  abruptly  with  a 
sharp  exclamation:  "  What's  that?  " 

Doggott,  too,  had  heard  and  been  startled.  "  It 
sounded  like  a  gun-shot,  sir,  and  a  man  shouting,"  he 
said,  moving  toward  thq,  door. 

But  Amber  anticipated  him  there. 

As  he  stepped  out  into  the  bitter-cold  air  of  early 
morning,  he  received  an  impression  that  a  shadow  in  the 
hollow  had  been  alarmed  by  his  sudden  appearance  and 
had  flitted  silently  and  swiftly  out  upon  the  beaten  east- 
ward path.  But  of  this  he  could  not  be  sure. 

He  stood  shivering  and  staring,  waiting  with  at- 
tentive senses  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound.  The  wind 
had  indeed  fallen,  and  the  world  was  very  still — a  hush 
that  overspread  and  lay  unbroken  upon  the  deep,  cease- 
less growling  of  the  sea,  like  oil  on  water.  The  moon 
had  set  and  the  darkness  was  but  faintly  tempered  by 
the  starlight  on  the  snow — or  was  it  the  first  wan 
promise  of  the  dawn  that  seemed  to  quiver  in  the  form- 
less void  between  earth  and  sky? 

In  the  doorway  Doggott  grew  impatient.  "  You 
don't  'ear  anything,  sir?  " 

"  Not  a  sound." 

"  It's  cruel  cold,  Mr.  Amber.  'Adn't  you  better  come 
inside,  sir?  " 

"  I  suppose  so."  He  abandoned  hope  disconsolately 
and  returned  to  the  hut,  his  teeth  inclined  to  chatter  and 
his  stomach  assailed  by  qualms — premonitions  of  ex- 
haustion in  a  body  insufficiently  nourished. 

Doggott,   himself   similarly    affected,   perhaps,   was 


RED  DAWN  105 

quick  to  recognise  the  symptoms.  "  I'll  get  a  bite  of 
breakfast,  sir,"  he  suggested ;  "  you  'aven't  'ad  enough 
to  eat,  and  'unger's  tyking  'old  of  you.  If  you'll  par- 
don my  saying  so,  you  look  a  bit  sickly ;  but  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee  '11  set  that  right  in  a  jiffy." 

"  Thank  you,  Doggott ;  I  believe  you're  right. 
Though  disappointment  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the 
way  I  look.  I'd  hoped  it  might  be  Mr.  Quain  come  to 
look  for  me." 

Doggott  disappeared  to  prepare  the  meal,  but  within 
five  minutes  a  second  gun-shot  sounded  startlingly  near 
at  hand.  The  Virginian's  appearance  at  the  door  was 
coincident  with  a  clear  hail  of  "  Aho-oy,  Amber !  " — 
unmistakably  Quain's  voice,  raised  at  a  distance  of  not 
over  two  hundred  yards. 

Amber's  answering  cry  quavered  with  joy.  And  with 
a  bear-like  rush  Quain  topped  the  nearest  dune,  dropped 
down  into  the  hollow,  and  was  upon  him. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry ! "  he  cried,  almost  embracing 
Amber  in  his  excitement  and  relief ;  "  I'd  almost  given 
you  up  for  good  and  all !  " 

"  And  I  you,"  said  Amber,  watching  curiously  and 
somewhat  distrustfully  a  second  man  follow  Quain  into 
the  vale.  "  Who's  that  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Only  Antone.  We've  him  to  thank.  He  remem- 
bered this  old  camp  here — I'd  completely  forgotten  it — 
and  was  sure  you'd  taken  refuge  in  it.  Come  inside." 
He  dragged  Amber  in,  the  Portuguese  following. 
"  Let's  have  a  look  at  you  by  the  light.  Lord !  you 
seem  to  be  pretty  comfortable — and  I've  been  worrying 
myself  sick  for  fear  you "  He  swept  the  room  with 


106  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

an  approving  glance  which  passed  over  Doggott  and 
became  transfixed  as  it  rested  upon  the  hammock-bed 
with  its  burden;  and  his  jaw  fell.  "What's  this? 
What's  this?  "  He  swung  upon  Amber,  appraising 
with  relentless  eyes  the  havoc  his  night's  experience  had 
wrought  upon  the  man.  "  You  look  like  hell !  "  he  ex* 
ploded.  "  What's  up  here?  Eh?  " 

Amber  turned  to  Doggott.  "  Take  Antone  out  there 
with  you  and  keep  him  until  I  call,  please.  This  is  Mr. 
Quain ;  I  want  to  talk  with  him  undisturbed.  .  .  . 
But  you  can  bring  us  coffee  when  it's  ready." 

Quain  motioned  to  Antone ;  the  Portuguese  disap- 
peared into  the  back  room  with  Doggott,  who  closed 
the  communicating  door. 

"  You  first,"  said  Amber.  "  If  you've  fretted  about 
me,  I've  been  crazy  about  you — what  time  I've  had  to 
think." 

Quain  deferred  to  his  insistence.  "  It  was  simple 
enough — and  damned  hard,"  he  explained.  "  I  caught 
the  Echo  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth,  the  skimmy  almost 
sinking  under  me.  She  was  hard  and  fast  aground,  but 
I  managed  to  get  the  motor  going  and  backed  her  off. 
As  soon  as  that  was  all  right  we  got  a  wave  aboard  that 
soused  the  motor — like  a  fool  I'd  left  the  hatch  off — 
and  short-circuited  the  coil.  After  that  there  was  hell 
to  pay.  I  worked  for  half  an  hour  reefing,  and  mean- 
while we  went  aground  again.  The  oar  broke  and  I 
had  to  go  overboard  and  get  wet  to  my  waist  before  I 
got  her  off.  By  that  time  it  was  blowing  great  guns 
and  dead  from  the  beach.  I  had  to  stand  off  and  make 
for  the  mainland — nothing  else  to  do.  We  beached 


RED  DAWN  107 

about  a  mile  below  the  lighthouse  and  I  had  the  four- 
mile  tramp  home.  Then  after  I'd  thawed  out  and  had 
a  drink  and  a  change  of  clothes,  we  had  to  wait  two 
hours  for  the  sea  to  go  down  enough  to  make  a  crossing 
in  the  launch  practicable.  That's  all  for  mine.  Now 
you?  What's  that  there?  " 

"  A  suicide ;  a  friend  of  mine — the  man  Rutton  whom 
we  were  discussing  the  night  I  came  down.  And  that's 
not  half.  There's  a  man  out  there  somewhere,  shot  to 
death  by  Rutton — a  Bengali  babu.  .  .  .  Quain,  I've 
lived  in  Purgatory  ever  since  we  parted  and  now  .  .  . 
I'm  about  done." 

He  was ;  the  coming  of  Quain  with  the  ease  of  mind  it 
brought  had  snapped  the  high  nervous  tension  which 
had  sustained  Amber.  He  was  now  on  the  edge  of  col- 
lapse and  showed  it  plainly.  But  two  circumstances 
aided  him  to  recover  his  grip  upon  himself:  Quain's 
compassionate  consideration  in  forbearing  to  press  his 
story  from  him,  and  Doggott's  opportune  appearance 
with  a  pot  of  coffee,  steaming  and  black.  Two  cups  of 
this  restored  Amber  to  a  condition  somewhat  approach- 
ing the  normal.  He  lit  a  cigarette  and  began  to  talk. 

For  all  his  affection  for  and  confidence  in  his  friend, 
there  were  things  he  might  not  tell  Quain ;  wherefore 
he  couched  his  narrative  in  the  fewest  possible  words 
and  was  miserly  of  detail.  Of  the  coming  of  the  babu 
and  his  going  Amber  was  fairly  free  to  speak ;  he  sup- 
pressed little  if  any  of  that  episode.  Moreover  he  had 
forgotten  to  remove  the  Token  from  his  finger,  and 
Quain  instantly  remarked  it  and  demanded  an  explana- 
tion. But  of  the  nature  of  the  errand  on  which  he  was 


108  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

to  go,  Amber  said  nothing;  it  was,  he  averred,  Rut- 
ton's  private  business.  Nor  did  he  touch  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  Rutton's  nationality.  Sophia  Farrell  he  never 
mentioned. 

Nevertheless,  he  said  enough  to  render  Quain  thought- 
ful. ..."  You're  set  on  this  thing,  I  suppose?  "  he 
asked  some  time  after  Amber  had  concluded. 

"  Set  upon  it,  dear  man?  I've  no  choice.  I  must  go 
— I  promised." 

"  Of  course.  That's  you,  all  over.  Personally,  I 
think  it'll  turn  out  a  fool's  errand.  But  there's  some- 
thing you  haven't  told  me — I'm  not  ass  enough  to  have 
missed  that  and  no  doubt  that  influences  you." 

"  I've  told  you  everything  that,  in  honor,  I  could." 

"  Ilinin — yes ;  I  dare  say.  ..."  Quain  scowled 
over  the  problem  for  some  time.  "  It's  plain  enough," 
he  asserted  forcibly :  "  that  man  was  involved  in  some 
infernal  secret  society.  Just  how  and  why's  the  question. 
Think  I'll  have  a  look  at  him." 

Amber  would  have  protested,  but  thought  better  of 
it  and  held  his  peace  while  Quain  went  to  the  hammock- 
bed,  turned  back  the  sheet,  and  for  several  min- 
utes lingered  there,  scrutinising  the  stony,  upturned 
face. 

"  So !  "  he  said,  coming  back.  "  Here's  news  that'll 
help  you  some.  You  were  blind  not  to  see  it  yourself. 
That  man's — was,  I  should  say — a  Rajput."  He 
waited  for  the  comment  which  did  not  come.  "  You 
knew  it?  " 

"  I  .    .    .   suspected,  to-night." 

"  It's  as  plain  as  print ;  the  mark  of  his  caste  is  all 


RED  DAWN  109 

over  him.  But  perhaps  he  was  able  to  disguise  it  a  little 
with  his  manner — alive;  undoubtedly,  I'd  say.  He  was 
a  genius  of  his  kind — a  prodigy ;  a  mental  giant.  That 

translation  of  the  '  Tantras  ' !  Wonderful !  .  .  . 

Well,  he's  gone  his  own  way:  God  be  with  him.  .  .  ,. 
When  do  you  want  to  start?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible — sooner.  I've  not  a  day  to  lose 
— not  an  hour." 

"  Urgent  as  that,  eh  ?  "  Quain  peered  keenly  into  his 
face.  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  you  know.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  I  might  go  with  you.  But  I'm  married  now — 
and  respectable.  If  I  *  'ear  the  East  a-callin' '  and 
daren't  answer,  it's  my  own  fault  for  ever  being  fool 
enough  to  have  heard  it.  Well  ..."  He  proceeded 
to  take  charge  of  the  situation  with  his  masterful  habit. 
"  The  morning  train  leaves  Nokomis  at  seven-thirty. 
You  can  make  that,  if  you  must.  But  you  need  sleep — 
rest." 

"  I'll  get  that  on  the  train." 

"  'Knew  you'd  say  that.  Very  well.  This  is  Tues- 
day. The  Mauretania — or  the  Lusitania,  I  don't  know 
which — sails  to-morrow.  You  can  catch  that,  too.  It's 
the  quickest  route,  eastwards " 

"  But  I've  decided  to  go  west." 

"  That  means  a  week  more,  and  you  said  you  were 
in  a  hurry." 

"  I  am ;  but  by  going  westwards  it's  barely  possible 
I  may  be  able  to  transact  or  wind  up  the  business  on 
the  way." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Amber  was  hoping  the  Ro- 
lands, with  Sophia  Farrell,  might  linger  somewhere  en 


110  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

route,  remembering  that  the  girl  had  discussed  a  ten- 
tative project  to  stop  over  between  steamers  at  Yoko- 
hama. 

"  Very  well,"  Quain  gave  in ;  "  you're  the  doctor. 
Now  as  for  things  here,  make  your  mind  easy.  I'll  take 
charge  and  keep  the  affair  quiet.  There's  no  reason  I 
can  see  for  its  ever  getting  out.  I  can  answer  for  my- 
self and  Antone;  and  the  two  of  us  can  wind  things 
up.  That  man  Rutton  is  at  peace  now — 'chances  are 
he'd  prefer  a  quiet  grave  here  on  the  island.  Then 
that  devilish  babu — he  doesn't  count;  Antone  and  I'll 
get  him  under  the  ground  in  a  jiffy.  No  one  ever  gets 
over  here  but  me,  now ;  come  summer  and  there'll  be  a  few 
wanderers,  but  by  that  time.  .  .  .  The  dunes  '11  hold 
their  secrets  fast:  be  sure  of  that.  Finally,  if  any  one 
round  here  knows  about  this  place  being  occupied,  your 
departure  '11  be  public  enough  to  make  them  think  it's 
being  abandoned  again.  Keep  your  hat-brim  down 
and  your  coat-collar  up  at  the  station ;  and  they'll  never 
know  you  aren't  Rutton  himself;  and  you'll  have  Dog- 
gott  to  back  up  the  deception.  So  there'll  be  no  ques- 
tions asked.  .  .  .  Get  ready  now  to  trot  along,  and 
I'll  take  care  of  everything." 

"  There's  no  way  of  thanking  you." 

"  That's  a  comfort.  Call  Doggott  now  and  tell  him 
to  get  ready.  You  haven't  much  time  to  lose.  I'd  land 
at  the  lighthouse  dock,  if  I  were  you,  and  take  the 
short-cut  up  to  the  station  by  the  wood  road.  If  you 
land  at  Tanglewood,  Madge  '11  hold  you  up  for  a  hot 
breakfast  and  make  you  miss  your  train.  I'll  cook  up 
some  yarn  to  account  for  your  defection;  and  when 


RED  DAWN  111 

you  get  back  with  your  blooming  bride  you  can  tell  her 
the  whole  story,  by  way  of  amends." 

Amber  wheeled  upon  him,  colouring  to  the  brows. 
"My  bride!  What  do  you  mean  by  ( that?  I  said 
nothing " 

Quain  rubbed  his  big  hands,  chuckling.  "  Of  course 
you  didn't.  But  I'm  wise  enough  to  know  there's  bound 
to  be  a  woman  in  this  case.  Besides,  it's  Romance — 
and  what's  a  romance  without  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  go  to  thunder,"  said  Amber  good-naturedly, 
and  went  to  give  Doggott  his  orders. 

While  they  waited  for  the  servant  to  pack  his  hand- 
bag— it  being  obvious  that  to  take  the  trunks  with  them 
was  not  feasible;  while  Quain  was  to  care  for  Amber's 
things  at  Tanglewood  until  his  return  from  India — 
Quain  was  possessed  by  an  idea  which  he  was  pleased 
to  christen  an  inspiration. 

"  It's  this,"  he  explained :  "  what  do  you  know  about 
Calcutta?  " 

"  Little  or  nothing.  I've  been  there — that's  about 
all." 

"  Precisely.  Now  7  know  the  place,  and  I  know  you'll 
never  find  this  goldsmith  in  the  Machua  Bazaar  without 
a  guide.  The  ordinary,  common-or-garden  guide  is  out 
of  the  question,  of  course.  But  I  happen  to  know  an 
Englishman  there  who  knows  more  about  the  dark  side 
of  India  than  any  other  ten  men  in  the  world.  He'll  be 
invaluable  to  you,  and  you  can  trust  him  as  you 
would  Doggott.  Go  to  him  in  my  name — you'll  need 
no  other  introduction — and  tell  him  what  you're  told 
me." 


112  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  That's  impossible.  Rutton  expressly  prohibited 
my  mentioning  his  name  to  any  one  in  India." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  You  haven't,  have  you  ?  And  you 
won't  have  to.  I'll  take  care  of  that,  when  I  write  and 
tell  Labertouche  you're  coming." 

"What  name?" 

"  Labertouche.    Why  ?    You  don't  know  him." 

"  No ;  but  Rutton  did.  Rutton  got  that  poison  from 
him." 

Quain  whistled,  his  eyes  round.  "  Did,  eh?  So  much 
the  better ;  he'll  probably  know  all  about  Rutton  and  '11 
take  a  keener  interest." 

"  But  you  forget " 

"  Hang  your  prolnise.  I'm  not  bound  by  it  and  this 
is  business — blacker  business  than  you  seem  to  realise, 
Davy.  You're  bent  on  jumping  blindfold  and  with 
your  hands  tied  into  the  seething  pool  of  infamy  and 
intrigue  that  is  India.  And  I  won't  stand  for  it.  Don't 
think  for  an  instant  that  I'm  going  to  let  you  go  with- 
out doing  everything  I  can  to  make  things  as  pleasant 
as  possible  for  you.  .  .  .  No;  Labertouche  is  your 
man." 

And  to  this  Quain  held  inflexibly ;  so  that,  in  the  end, 
Amber,  unable  to  move  him,  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
matter  in  his  hands. 

A  sullen  and  portentous  dawn  hung  in  the  sky  when 
the  little  party  left  the  cabin.  In  the  east  the  entire 
firmament  was  ensanguined  with  sinister  crimson  and 
barred  with  long  reefs  of  purple-black  clouds  in  motion- 
less suspense.  Upon  the  earth  the  red  glare  fell  omi- 
nously; the  eastern  faces  of  the  snow-clad  dunes  shone 


RED  DAWN  113 

like  rubies;  westward  the  shadows  streamed  long  and 
dense  and  violet.  The  stillness  was  intense. 

A  little  awed,  it  may  be,  and  certainly  more  than  a 
little  depressed,  they  left  the  hollow  by  the  beaten 
way,  the  Portuguese  Antone  leading  with  a  pick  and 
spade,  Amber  and  Quain  following  side  by  side,  Dog- 
gott  with  his  valise  bringing  up  the  rear.  Beyond  the 
hollow  the  tracks  diverged  toward  the  bay  shore;  and 
presently  they  came  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy. 

Between  two  sandhills  the  Bengali  lay  supine,  a  hud- 
dled heap  of  garish  colour — scarlet,  yellow,  tan — 
against  the  cold  bluish-grey  of  snow.  A  veil  of  unmelted 
flakes  blurred  his  heavy,  contorted  features  and  his 
small,  black  eyes — eyes  as  evil  now,  staring  glassily  up 
to  the  zenith,  as  when  quickened  by  his  malign  intelli- 
gence. About  him  were  many  footprints,  some  recently 
made — presumably  by  his  companion.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, kept  himself  discreetly  invisible. 

At  a  word  from  Quain  the  Portuguese  paused  and 
began  to  dig.  Quain,  Amber,  and  Doggott  went  on  a 
little  distance,  then,  by  mutual  consent,  halted  within 
sight  of  Antone. 

"  I  wouldn't  leave  him  if  I  were  you,"  Amber  told 
Quain,  nodding  back  at  the  Portuguese.  "  It  mightn't 
be  safe,  with  that  other  devil  skulking  round — Heaven 
knows  where." 

"  Right-O !  "  agreed  Quain.  His  hand  sought  Am- 
ber's. "  Good-bye,  and  God  be  with  you,"  he  said 
huskily. 

Amber  tightened  his  clasp  upon  the  man's  fingers. 
"  I  can't  improve  on  that,  Tony,"  said  he  with  a  feeble 


114  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

smile.  "  Good-bye,  and  God  be  with  you."  He  dropped 
his  hand  and  turned  away.  "  Come  along,  Doggott." 

The  servant  led  the  way  baywards.  Behind  them  the 
angry  morning  blazed  brighter  in  the  sky. 

In  the  sedge  of  the  shore  they  found  a  rowboat  and, 
launching  it,  embarked  for  the  power-boat,  which  swung 
at  her  mooring  in  deeper  water.  When  they  were  aboard 
the  latter,  Doggott  took  charge  of  the  motor,  leaving 
to  Amber  the  wheel,  and  with  little  delay  they  were  in 
motion. 

As  their  distance  from  the  shore  increased  Amber 
glanced  back.  The  island  rested  low  against  the  flam- 
ing sky,  a  shape  of  empurpled  shadows,  scarcely  more 
substantial  to  the  vision  than  the  rack  of  cloud  above. 
In  the  dark  sedges  the  pools,  here  and  there,  caught  the 
light  from  above  and  shone  blood-red.  And  suddenly 
the  attention  of  the  Virginian  was  arrested  by  the  dis- 
covery of  a  human  figure — a  man  standing  upon  a  dune- 
top  some  distance  inland,  and  staring  steadfastly  after 
the  boat.  He  seemed  of  extraordinary  height  and  very 
thin ;  upon  his  head  there  was  a  turban ;  his  arms  were 
folded.  While  Amber  watched  he  held  his  pose,  a  living 
menace — like  some  fantastic  statue  bulking  black 
against  the  grim  red  dawn. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MASKS    AND    FACES 

LIKE  many  a  wiser  and  a  better  man,  Amber  was  able 
upon  occasion  to  change  his  mind  without  entertaining 
serious  misgivings  as  to  his  stability  of  purpose.  There- 
fore, on  second  thought,  he  elected  to  journey  India- 
wards  via  the  Suez  Canal  rather  than  by  the  western 
route.  As  he  understood  the  situation,  he  had  no  time 
to  waste;  the  quicker  way  to  his  destination  was  the 
eastern  way ;  and,  viewed  soberly,  the  chance  upon  which 
he  had  speculated,  that  of  overtaking  the  girl's  party 
somewhere  en  route,  appeared  a  long  one — a  gambler's 
risk,  and  far  too  risky  if  he  did  not  exaggerate  the  urg- 
ency of  his  errand.  Rutton's  instructions  had,  moreover, 
been  explicit  upon  one  point:  Amber  was  to  enter  India 
only  by  the  port  of  Calcutta.  In  deferring  to  this  the  Vir- 
ginian lost  several  days  waiting  in  London  for  the  fort- 
nightly P.  &  O.  boat  for  Calcutta :  a  delay  which  might 
have  been  obviated  by  taking  the  overland  route  to 
Brindisi,  connecting  there  with  the  weekly  P.  &  O.  boat 
for  Bombay,  from  which  latter  point  Calcutta  could 
have  been  quickly  reached  by  rail  across  the  Indian 
Peninsula. 

Now  Quain's  letter  to  Labertouche  went  by  this 
quicker  route  and  so  anticipated  Amber's  arrival  at  the 
capital  of  India  by  about  a  week;  during  all  of  which 

time  it  languished  unread. 

115 


116  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

A  nice  young  English  boy  in  Mr.  Labertouche's  em- 
ploy received  and  stamped  it  with  the  date  of  delivery 
and  put  it  away  with  the  rest  of  the  incoming  corre- 
spondence in  a  substantial-looking  safe.  After  which 
he  returned  to  his  desk  in  the  ante-room  and  resumed  his 
study  of  the  law ;  which  he  pursued  comfortably  enough 
with  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  his  chair  tilted  back,  and 
his  feet  gently  but  firmly  implanted  upon  the  fair 
printed  pages  of  an  open  volume  of  Blackstone.  His 
official  duties,  otherwise,  seemed  to  consist  solely  in  im- 
parting to  all  and  sundry  the  information  that  Mr. 
Labertouche  was  "  somewhere  up  in  the  Mofussil,  hunt- 
ing bugs — I  don't  know  exactly  where." 

This  was,  broadly  speaking,  perfectly  true,  within 
the  limitations  of  the  youth's  personal  knowledge.  He 
was  a  pleasant-mannered  boy  of  twenty  or  therabouts, 
with  an  engaging  air  of  candour  which  successfully 
masked  a  close-mouthed  reticence,  even  as  his  ostensibly 
heedless,  happy-go-lucky  ways  disguised  a  habit  of  ex- 
treme caution  and  keen  and  particular  observation: 
qualities  which  caused  him  to  be  considered  an  invalu- 
able office-assistant  to  a  solicitor  without  any  clientele 
worth  mentioning,  and  who  chose  to  spend  most  of  his 
time  somewhere  up  in  the  Mofussil  hunting  bugs. 

The  Mofussil,  by  the  way,  is  an  extremely  elastic 
term,  standing  as  it  does  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  resi- 
dent Calcutta-man,  for  the  Empire  of  India  outside  the 
seat  of  its  Government. 

Precisely  why  Mr.  Labertouche  maintained  his  office 
was  a  matter  for  casual  conjecture  to  his  wide  circle 
of  acquaintances ;  although  it's  not  unlikely  that,  were 


MASKS  AND  FACES  117 

he  the  subject  of  discussion,  the  bulk  of  the  wonder  ex- 
pressed would  be  inspired  by  his  unreasonable  preference 
for  Calcutta  as  a  place  of  residence.  The  Anglo- 
Indian  imagination  is  incapable  of  comprehending  the 
frame  of  mind  which  holds  existence  in  Calcutta  toler- 
able when  one  has  the  rest  of  India — including  Simla — 
open  to  one.  And  Labertouche  was  unmarried,  uncon- 
nected with  the  Government,  and  independent  of  his  pro- 
fession; certainly  it  would  seem  that  the  slender  stream 
of  clients  which  trickled  in  and  out  of  the  little  offices 
on  Dhurrumtollah  Street,  near  the  Maidan,  could  hardly 
have  provided  him  with  a  practice  lucrative  enough  to 
be  a  consideration.  On  the  other  hand  it  had  to  be 
admitted  that  the  man  kept  up  his  establishment  in 
Calcutta  rather  than  lived  there;  for  he  was  given  to 
unexpected  and  extended  absences  from  home,  and  was 
frequently  reported  as  having  been  seen  poking  sedu- 
lously over  this  plain  or  through  that  jungle,  with  a 
butterfly  net,  a  bottle  of  chloroform,  and  an  air  of  ab- 
straction. In  view  of  all  of  which  he  was  set  down  as 
an  original  and  wholly  irresponsible.  The  first  of  which 
he  was  and  the  second  of  which  he  emphatically  was  not. 
Henry  Charles  Beresford  Labertouche  was,  in  person, 
a  quiet  and  unassuming  body,  with  nothing  particularly 
remarkable  about  him  save  his  preference  for  boot-heels 
nearly  three  inches  high  and  a  habit  of  dying  his  hair — 
naturally  greyish — a  jet-black.  Inasmuch  as  he  was 
quite  brazen  about  these  matters  and  would  cheerfully 
discuss  with  comparative  strangers  the  contrasted  merits 
of  this  hair-dye  and  that  and  the  obvious  advantages 
of  being  five  feet  nine  and  one-half  inches  in  height 


118  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

instead  of  five  feet  seven,  his  idiosyncrasies  were  not  held 
against  him.  Otherwise  he  was  a  man  strikingly  in- 
conspicuous; his  eyes  were  a  very  dark  brown,  which  is 
nothing  remarkable,  and  his  features  were  almost  ex- 
asperatingly  indefinite.  You  would  have  found  him 
hard  to  recall  to  memory,  visually,  aside  from  the  boot- 
heels,  which  might  easily  have  been  overlooked,  and  the 
black  hair,  which  was,  when  all's  said,  rather  becoming 
than  otherwise.  Living  with  two  native  servants  in  a 
modest  bungalow  somewhere  between  Chitpur  and  Bar- 
rackpur,  he  went  to  and  from  his  office,  or  didn't,  at  his 
whim,  with  entire  lack  of  ostentation.  Soft-spoken  and 
gifted  with  a  distinct  sense  of  the  humorous,  he  would 
converse  agreeably  and  intelligently  upon  any  imper- 
sonal topic  for  hours  at  a  time,  when  the  spirit  so  moved 
him.  As  an  entomologist  his  attainments  were  said  to 
be  remarkable ;  he  was  admittedly  an  interested  student 
of  ethnology ;  and  he  filled  in  his  spare  time  compound- 
ing unholy  smells  in  a  little  laboratory  connected  with 
his  suburban  home.  This  latter  proceeding  earned  him 
the  wholesome  fear  and  respect  of  the  native  population, 
who  firmly  believed  him  an  intimate  of  many  devils. 

Such,  at  least,  was  the  superficial  man. 

Now  upon  the  morning  of  the  day  that  found  the 
steamship  Poonah  nuzzling  up  the  Hooghly's  dirty  yel- 
low flood,  Mr.  Labertouche's  clerk  arrived  at  the  Dhur- 
rumtollah  Street  office  at  the  usual  hour ;  which,  in  the 
absence  of  his  employer,  was  generally  between  eleven 
o'clock  and  noon.  Having  assorted  and  disposed  of  the 
morning's  mail,  he  donned  his  office-coat,  sat  down, 
thumbed  through  Blackstone  until  he  found  two  per- 


MASKS  AND  FACES  119 

fectly  clean  pages,  opened  the  volume  at  that  place, 
tipped  back  his  chair,  and  with  every  indication  of  an 
untroubled  conscience  imposed  his  feet  upon  the  book 
and  began  the  day's  labours  with  a  cigarette. 

The  window  at  his  right  was  open,  affording  an  ex- 
cellent view,  from  an  elevation  of  one  storey,  of  the  tide 
of  traffic  ebbing  and  flowing  in  Dhurrumtollah  Street. 
The  clerk  watched  it  sleepily,  between  half -closed  eye- 
lids. Presently  he  became  aware  that  an  especially 
dirty  and  travel-worn  Attit  mendicant  had  squatted 
down  across  the  way,  in  the  full  glare  of  sunlight,  and 
was  composing  himself  for  one  of  those  apparently  pur- 
poseless and  interminable  vigils  peculiar  to  his  vocation. 
Beneath  their  drooping  lashes  the  eyes  of  the  clerk 
brightened.  But  he  did  not  move.  Neither  did  the 
Attit  mendicant. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  half -hour  the  clerk  consumed 
two  cigarettes  and  entertained  a  visitor  in  the  person  of 
a  dapper  little  Greek  curio-dealer  from  the  Lai  Bazaar, 
who  left  behind  him  an  invitation  to  Mr.  Labertouche 
to  call  and  inspect  some  scarabs  in  which  he  had  pro- 
fessed an  interest.  It  was  quite  a  fresh  importation, 
averred  the  Greek ;  the  clerk  was  to  be  careful  to  remem- 
ber that. 

When  he  had  gone  the  clerk  made  a  note  of  it. 
Then,  glancing  out  the  window,  he  became  aware  that 
the  Attit  mendicant,  for  some  reason  dissatisfied,  was 
preparing  to  move  on.  Yawning,  the  clerk  resumed 
his  street  coat,  and  went  out  to  lunch,  carelessly  leaving 
the  door  unlocked,  and  the  memorandum  of  the  Greek's 
invitation  exposed  upon  his  blotter.  When  he  returned 


120  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

at  three  o'clock,  the  door  of  Mr.  Labertouche's  private 
office  was  ajar  and  that  gentleman  was  at  his  desk.  The 
memorandum  was,  however,  gone. 

Mr.  Labertouche  was  in  the  process  of  opening  and 
reading  a  ten-days'  accumulation  of  correspondence,  an 
occupation  which  he  suspended  temporarily  to  call  his 
clerk  in  and  receive  his  report.  This  proved  to  be  a 
tolerably  lengthy  session,  for  the  clerk,  whose  name  ap- 
peared to  be  Frank,  demonstrated  his  command  of  a 
surprising  memory.  Without  notes  he  enumerated  the 
callers  at  the  office  day  by  day  from  the  time  when 
Labertouche  had  left  for  the  Mofussil  with  his  specimen- 
box  and  the  rest  of  his  bug-hunting  paraphernalia; 
naming  those  known  to  his  employer,  minutely  describ- 
ing all  others,  even  repeating  their  words  with  almost 
phonographic  fidelity. 

Labertouche  listened  intently,  without  interrupting, 
abstractedly  tapping  his  desk  with  a  paper-cutter.  At 
the  end  he  said  "  Thank  you,"  with  a  dry,  preoccupied 
air;  and  resumed  consideration  of  his  letters.  These 
seemed  to  interest  him  little ;  one  after  the  other  he  gave 
to  his  clerk,  saying  "  File  that,"  or  "  Answer  that  so- 
and-thusly."  Two  he  set  aside  for  his  personal  disposi- 
tion, and  these  he  took  up  again  after  the  clerk  had 
been  dismissed.  The  first  he  read  and  reconsidered  for 
a  long  time;  then  crumpled  it  up  and,  drawing  to  him 
a  small  tray  of  hammered  brass,  dropped  the  wadded 
paper  upon  it  and  touched  a  match  to  it,  thoughtfully 
poking  the  blazing  sheets  with  his  paper-cutter  until 
they  were  altogether  reduced  to  ashes. 

Quain's    was    the    second    letter.     Having    merely 


MASKS  AND  FACES 

glanced  at  the  heading  and  signature,  Labertouche  had 
reserved  the  rather  formidable  document — for  Quain 
had  written  fully — as  probably  of  scant  importance, 
to  be  dealt  with  at  his  absolute  leisure.  But  as  he  read 
his  expression  grew  more  and  more  serious  and  per- 
turbed. Finishing  the  last  page  he  turned  back  to  the 
first  and  went  over  it  a  second  time  with  much  delibera- 
tion and  frequent  pauses,  apparently  memorising  por- 
tions of  its  contents.  Finally  he  said,  "  Hum-in !  "  in- 
scrutably and  rang  for  Frank. 

"  He  left  New  York  by  the  Lusitania,  eh?  "  said  Mr. 
Labertouche  aloud.  The  clerk  entering  interrupted  his 
soliloquy.  "  Bring  me,  please,"  he  said,  "  Bradshaw, 
the  News — and  the  latest  P.  &  O.  schedule."  And  when 
Frank  had  returned  with  these  articles,  he  desired  him 
to  go  at  once  and  enquire  at  Government  House  the 
whereabouts  of  Colonel  Dominick  James  Farrell,  and 
further  to  search  the  hotels  of  Calcutta  for  a  Miss  Far- 
rell, or  for  information  concerning  her.  "  Have  this 
for  me  to-night — come  to  the  bungalow  at  seven,"  he 
said.  "  And  ...  I  shall  probably  not  be  at  the  office 
again  for  several  days." 

"  Insects  ?  "  enquired  the  clerk. 

"  Insects,"  affirmed  Mr.  Labertouche  gravely. 

"  In  the  Mofussil?  " 

"  There  or  thereabouts,  Frank." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  presume  you  don't  feel  the  need  of  a 
capable  assistant  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Frank,"  said  Labertouche  kindly.  "  Be 
patient.  Your  time  will  come;  you're  doing  famously 
now." 


122  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Good-afternoon.     Lock  the  door  as  you  leave." 

Immediately  that  he  found  himself  alone,  Labertouche 
made  of  Quain's  letter  a  second  burnt  offering  to  preju- 
dice upon  the  tray  of  hammered  brass.  He  was  pos- 
sessed of  an  incurable  aversion  to  waste-paper  baskets 
and  other  receptacles  from  which  the  curious  might  fish 
out  torn  bits  of  paper  and,  with  patience,  piece  together 
and  reconstruct  documents  of  whose  import  he  preferred 
the  world  at  large  to  remain  unadvised.  Hence  the  tray 
of  brass — a  fixture  among  the  furnishings  of  his  desk. 

This  matter  attended  to,  he  lost  himself  in  Bradshaw 
and  the  Peninsular  &  Oriental  Steamship  Company's  list 
of  sailings ;  from  which  he  derived  enlightenment.  "  He 
was  to  come  direct,"  mused  Labertouche.  "  In  that 
case  he'll  have  waited  over  in  London  for  the  Poonah." 
He  turned  to  the  copy  of  the  Indian  Daily  News  which 
lay  at  his  elbow,  somewhat  anxiously  consulting  its 
shipping  news.  Under  the  heading  of  "  Due  this  Day  " 
he  discovered  the  words :  "  Poonah,  London — Calcutta — 
Straits  Settlements."  And  his  face  lengthened  with 
concern. 

"  That's  short  notice,"  he  said.  "  Lucky  I  got  back 
to-day — uncommon  lucky!  .  .  .  Still  I  may  be  mis- 
taken." But  the  surmise  failed  to  comfort  him. 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  there  was  no 
letter-head  to  him  and  began  to  write,  composing  de- 
liberately and  with  great  care. 

The  building  in  which  his  offices  were  located  stood 
upon  a  corner;  at  either  end  of  the  long  corridor  on 
the  upper  floor,  upon  which  the  various  offices  opened, 


MASKS  AND  FACES  123 

were  stairways,  one  descending  to  Dhurrumtollah  Street, 
the  other  to  a  side  street  little  better  than  an  alley.  It 
may  be  considered  significant  that,  whereas  Labertouche 
himself  was  not  seen  either  to  enter  or  to  leave  the  build- 
ing at  any  time  that  day,  an  Attit  mendicant  did  enter 
from  Dhurrumtollah  Street  shortly  after  Frank  had 
gone  to  lunch — and  disappeared  forthwith ;  while,  in 
the  dusk  of  evening,  a  slim  Eurasian  boy  with  a  clerkly 
air  left  by  the  stairs  to  the  alley.  I  say  a  boy,  but  he 
may  have  been  thirty ;  he  was  carefully  attired  in  cloth- 
ing of  the  mode  affected  by  the  Anglo-Indian,  but  wore 
shoes  that  were  almost  heelless.  His  height  may  have 
been  five-feet  seven  inches,  but  he  carried  himself  with 
a  slight,  studious  rounding  of  the  shoulders  that  as- 
sorted well  with  the  effect  of  his  large  gold-rimmed 
spectacles. 

He  stumbled  out  of  the  alley  into  Free  School  Street 
and  set  his  face  to  the  Maidan,  shuffling  along  slowly 
with  a  peering  air,  his  spectacles  catching  the  light 
from  the  shop-windows  and  glaring  glassily  through  the 
shadows. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FIRST    STEPS 

FORWARD  on  the  promenade  deck  of  the  Poonah,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bridge,  Amber  stood  with  both  elbows 
on  the  rail,  dividing  his  somewhat  perturbed  atten- 
tion between  a  noisy  lot  of  lascar  stewards,  deckhands, 
and  native  third-class  passengers  in  the  bows  below,  and 
the  long  lines  of  Saugor  Island,  just  then  slipping  past 
on  the  starboard  beam. 

On  either  hand,  ahead,  the  low,  livid  green  banks  of 
the  Hooghly  were  closing  in,  imperceptibly  constricting 
the  narrow  channel  through  which  the  tawny  tide  swirled 
down  to  the  sea  at  the  full  force  of  its  ebb.  Struggling 
under  this  handicap,  the  Poonah  trembled  from  stem  to 
stern  with  the  heavy  labouring  of  the  screw,  straining 
forward  like  a  thoroughbred,  its  strength  almost  spent, 
with  the  end  of  the  race  in  sight.  Across  the  white 
gleaming  decks,  as  the  bows  swung  from  port  to  star- 
board and  back  again,  following  the  channel,  purple- 
black  shadows  slipped  like  oil.  A  languid  land-wind 
blew  fitfully  down  the  estuary,  in  warm  puffs  dense  with 
sickly-sweet  jungle  reek.  The  day  was  hot  and  sticky 
with  humidity ;  a  haze  like  a  wall  of  dust  coloured  the 
skies  almost  to  the  zenith. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning;  Calcutta  lay  a 
hundred  miles  up  the  river,  approximately.  By  even- 
fall  Amber  expected  to  be  in  the  city,  whether  he  stuck 

124 


FIRST  STEPS  125 

by  the  steamer  until  she  docked  in  the  port,  or  left  her 
at  Diamond  Harbour,  sixty  miles  upstream,  and  finished 
his  journey  by  rail.  At  the  present  moment  he  hardly 
knew  which  to  do;  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events  he 
would  have  gone  ashore  at  Diamond  Harbour,  thereby 
gaining  an  hour  or  two  in  the  city.  But  within  the  last 
eighteen  hours  events  had  been  diverted  from  their  nor- 
mal course;  and  Amber  was  deeply  troubled  with 
misgivings. 

Up  to  the  day  that  the  Poonah  had  sailed  from 
Tilbury  Dock,  London,  from  the  time  he  had  left 
Quain  among  the  sand-dunes  of  Long  Island,  he  had 
not  been  conscious  of  any  sort  of  espionage  upon 
his  movements.  That  gaunt  and  threatening  figure 
which  he  had  seen  silhouetted  against  the  angry  dawn 
had  not  again  appeared  to  disturb  or  trouble  him.  His 
journey  across  the  Atlantic  had  been  uneventful ;  he  had 
personally  investigated  the  saloon  passenger  lists,  the 
second  and  third  cabins  and  the  steerage  of  the  Lusi- 
tania,  not  forgetting  the  crew,  only  to  be  reassured  by 
the  absence  of  anybody  aboard  who  even  remotely  sug- 
gested an  Indian  spy.  But  from  the  hour  that  the 
Poonah  with  its  miscellaneous  ship's  company,  white, 
yellow,  brown,  and  black,  had  warped  out  into  the 
Thames,  he  had  felt  he  was  being  watched — had  realised 
it  instinctively,  having  nothing  definite  whereon  to  base 
his  feeling.  He  was  neither  timorous  nor  given  to  con- 
juring up  shapes  of  terror  from  the  depths  of  a  nervous 
imagination ;  the  sensation  of  being  under  the  surveil- 
lance of  unseen,  prying  eyes  is  unmistakable.  Yet  he  had 
tried  to  reason  himself  out  of  the  belief — after  taking 


126  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

all  sensible  precautions,  such  as  never  letting  the  photo- 
graph of  Sophia  Farrell  out  of  his  possession  and  keep- 
ing the  Token  next  his  skin,  in  a  chamois  bag  that 
nestled  beneath  his  arm,  swinging  from  a  leather  cord 
round  his  neck.  And  as  day  blended  into  eventless  day, 
he  had  lulled  himself  into  an  uneasy  indifference.  What 
if  he  were  watched?  What  could  it  profit  any  one  to 
know  what  he  did  or  how  he  did  it,  day  by  day?  And 
with  increasing  infrequency  he  had  come  to  question 
himself  as  to  the  reason  for  the  spying  on  his  movements. 
Possibly  the  fruitlessness  of  any  such  speculation  had 
much  to  do  with  his  gradual  cessation  of  interest  in  the 
enigma.  He  was  not  credulous  of  the  power  of  divina- 
tion popularly  ascribed  to  the  Oriental;  he  was  little 
inclined  to  believe  that  the  nature  of  his  errand  to  India 
had  been  guessed,  or  that  any  native  intelligence  in 
India  knew  or  suspected  the  secret  of  Sophia  Farrell's 
parentage — Rutton's  solicitude  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. The  theory  that  he  most  favoured  in  explana- 
tion of  the  interest  in  him  was  that  it  had  somehow  be- 
come known  that  he  bore  with  him  the  emerald.  It  was 
quite  conceivable  that  that  jewel,  intrinsically  invalu- 
able, was  badly  wanted  by  its  former  possessors,  whether 
for  the  simple  worth  of  it  or  because  it  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  intrigue,  or  whatever  it  was,  that 
had  resulted  in  Rutton's  suicide.  For  his  own  part, 
Amber  cared  nothing  for  it;  he  had  christened  it, 
mentally,  the  Evil  Eye — with  a  smile  to  himself;  none- 
theless he  half-seriously  suspected  it  of  malign  proper- 
ties. He  was  imaginative  enough  for  that — or  super- 
stitious, if  you  prefer. 


FIRST  STEPS  127 

He  would,  however,  gladly  have  surrendered  the  jewel 
to  those  who  coveted  it,  in  exchange  for  a  promise  of 
immunity  from  assassination,  had  he  known  whom  to 
approach  with  the  offer  and  been  free  to  make  it.  But 
he  must  first  show  it  to  Dhola  Baksh  of  the  Machua 
Bazaar.  After  that,  when  its  usefulness  had  been  dis- 
charged, he  would  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  strike  such 
a  bargain.  .  .  . 

Such,  in  short,  had  been  his  frame  of  mind  up  to  eight 
o'clock  of  the  previous  evening.  At  that  hour  he  had 
made  a  discovery  which  had  diverted  the  entire  trend  of 
his  thoughts. 

Doggott,  ever  a  poor  sailor,  had  been  feeling  ill 
and  Amber  had  excused  him  early  in  the  afternoon. 
About  six  o'clock  he  had  gone  to  his  stateroom  and 
dressed  for  dinner,  unattended.  Absorbed  in  antici- 
pations of  the  morrow,  when  first  he  should  set  foot  in 
Calcutta  and  take  the  first  step  in  pursuit  of  Sophia 
Farrell,  he  had  absent-mindedly  neglected  to  empty  the 
pockets  of  his  discarded  clothing.  At  seven  he  had  gone 
to  dinner,  leaving  his  stateroom  door  open,  as  was  his 
habit — a  not  unusual  one  with  first-cabin  passengers  on 
long  voyages — and  his  flannels  swinging  from  hooks 
in  the  wall.  About  eight,  discovering  his  oversight 
through  the  absence  of  his  cigarette-case,  he  had  hurried 
back  to  the  stateroom  to  discover  that  he  had  been 
curiously  robbed. 

His  watch,  his  keys,  his  small  change  and  his  sover- 
eign purse,  his  silver  cigarette-case — all  the  articles,  in 
fact,  that  he  was  accustomed  to  stuff  into  his  pockets — • 
with  one  exception,  were  where  he  had  left  them.  But 


128  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  leather  envelope  containing  the  portrait  of  Sophia 
Farrell  was  missing  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat. 

From  the  hour  in  which  he  had  obtained  it  he  had 
never  but  this  once  let  it  out  of  his  personal  possession. 
The  envelope  he  had  caused  to  be  constructed  for  its 
safe-keeping  during  his  enforced  inaction  in  London. 
He  had  never  once  looked  at  it  save  in  strict  privacy, 
secure  even  from  the  eyes  of  Doggott;  and  the  latter 
did  not  know  what  the  leather  case  contained. 

Thus  his  preconceived  and  self -constructed  theory  as 
to  the  extent  of  The  Enemy's  knowledge,  was  in  an  in- 
stant overthrown.  "  They  "  had  seized  the  very  first 
relaxation  of  his  vigilance  to  rob  him  of  that  which  he 
valued  most.  And  in  his  heart  he  feared  and  believed 
that  the  incident  indicated  "  their  "  intimacy  not  alone 
with  his  secret  but  with  that  which  he  shared  with  Colonel 
Farrell. 

Since  then  his  every  move  toward  regaining  the  photo- 
graph had  been  fruitless.  His  stateroom  steward,  a 
sleek,  soft  Bengali  boy  who  had  attended  him  all 
through  the  voyage  with  every  indication  of  eagerness 
to  oblige  him,  professed  entire  ignorance  of  the  theft. 
That  was  only  to  be  expected.  But  when  Amber  went  to 
the  purser  and  the  latter  cross-examined  the  steward 
in  his  presence,  the  Bengali  stuck  to  his  protestations 
of  innocence  without  the  tremor  of  an  eyelash.  In 
fact,  he  established  an  alibi  by  the  testimony  of  his 
fellow-stewards.  Further,  when  Amber  publicly  offered 
a  reward  of  five  guineas  "  and  no  questions  asked  "  and 
in  private  tempted  the  Bengali  with  much  larger 
amounts,  he  accomplished  nothing. 


FIRST  STEPS  129 

In  the  end,  and  in  despair,  Amber  posted  a  notice  on 
the  ship's  bulletin-board,  offering  fifty  guineas  reward 
for  the  return  of  the  photograph  to  him  either  before 
landing  or  at  the  Great  Eastern  Hotel,  Calcutta,  and 
having  thereby  established  his  reputation  as  a  mild 
lunatic,  sat  down  to  twirl  his  thumbs  and  await  the  out- 
come, confidently  anticipating  there  would  be  none. 
"  They "  had  outwitted  him  and  not  five  hundred 
guineas  would  tempt  "  them,"  he  believed.  It  remained 
only  to  contrive  a  triumph  in  despite  of  this  setback. 

But  how  to  set  about  it?  How  might  he  plan  against 
forces  of  whose  very  nature  he  was  ignorant — save  that 
he  guessed  them  to  be  evil?  How  could  he  look  ahead  and 
scheme  to  circumvent  the  unguessable  machinations  of 
the  unknown?  .  .  .  His  wits,  like  wild  things  in  a 
cage,  battered  themselves  to  exhaustion  against  the  im- 
placable bars  of  his  understanding. 

For  the  thousand-and-first  time  he  reviewed  the  mad- 
deningly scanty  store  of  facts  at  his  command,  turn- 
ing them  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  vainly  hopeful  of 
inferring  a  clue.  But,  as  always,  he  found  his  thoughts 
circling  a  beaten  track  of  conjecture.  .  .  .  What 
dread  power  had  hounded  Rutton,  forth  from  the  haunts 
of  his  kind,  from  pillar  to  post  of  the  world  (as  he  had 
said)  to  his  death  among  the  desolate  dunes  of  Long 
Island  ?  What  "  staggering  blow  against  the  peace  and 
security  of  the  world  "  could  that  or  any  power  possibly 
strike,  with  Rutton  for  its  tool,  once  it  had  caught  and 
bent  him  to  its  will?  What  fear  had  set  upon  his  lips  a 
seal  so  awful  that  even  in  the  shadow  of  death  he  had  not 
dared  speak,  though  to  speak  were  to  save  the  one  being 


130  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

to  whom  his  heart  turned  in  the  end?  To  save  his  daugh- 
ter from  what,  had  he  voluntarily  renounced  her,  giving 
her  into  another's  care,  forswearing  his  paternal  title 
to  her  love,  refusing  himself  even  the  cold  comfort  of 
seeing  her  attain  to  the  flower  of  her  womanly  beauty 
as  another's  child?  What — finally — was  the  ordeal  of 
the  Gateway  of  Swords,  and  what  could  it  be  that  made 
the  Gateway  of  Death  seem  preferable  to  it? 

For  the  thousand-and-first  time  Amber  abandoned  his 
efforts  to  divine  the  inscrutable,  to  overcome  the  insur- 
mountable, to  attain  to  the  inaccessible,  but  abandoned 
them  grudgingly,  grimly  denying  the  possibility  of  ulti- 
mate failure.  Though  he  were  never  to  know  the  dark 
heart  of  the  mystery,  yet  would  he  snatch  from  its 
pythonic  coils  the  woman  he  had  sworn  to  save,  the 
woman  he  loved ! 

And  while  the  black  steamer  with  the  buff  super- 
structure toiled  on,  cleaving  its  arduous  way  through 
the  turbulent  yellow  flood  between  the  contracting  shores 
of  the  Sunderbunds,  while  the  offshore  wind  buffeted 
Amber's  cheeks  with  the  hot  panting  breath  of  Bengal, 
his  eyes,  dimmed  with  dreaming,  saw  only  Her  face. 

So  often  of  late  had  he  in  solitude  pondered  her 
photograph,  striving  to  solve  the  puzzle  of  her  heart 
that  was  to  him  a  mystery  as  unfathomable  as  that 
which  threatened  her,  that  he  had  merely  to  think  of  her 
to  bring  her  picture  vividly  before  him.  He  could  close 
his  eyes  (he  closed  them  now,  shutting  out  the  moving 
panorama  of  the  river)  and  see  the  girl  that  he  had 
known  in  those  few  dear  hours:  the  girl  with  eyes  as 
brown  as  sepia  but  illumined  by  traces  of  gold  in  the 


FIRST  STEPS  131 

irides — eyes  that  could  smile  and  frown  and  be  sweetly 
grave,  all  in  the  time  that  a  man  needs  to  catch  his 
breath;  the  girl  with  the  immaculate,  silken  skin,  milk- 
white,  with  the  rose-blush  of  young  blood  beneath ;  with 
lips  softly  crimson  as  satin  petals  of  a  flower,  that 
could  smile  a  man  into  slavery ;  the  girl  to  contemplate 
whose  adorably  modelled  chin  and  firm,  round,  young 
neck  would  soften  the  austerity  of  an  anchorite;  in 
whose  hair  was  blended  every  deep  shade  of  bronze  and 
gold  .  .  . 

Something  clutched  at  his  heart  as  with  a  hand  of 
ice.  He  could  never  forget,  dared  not  remember  what 
he  could  not  believe  yet  dared  not  deny.  To  him,  reared 
as  he  had  been,  the  barrier  of  mixed  blood  rose  between 
them,  a  thing  surmountable  only  at  the  cost  of  caste; 
the  shadow  of  that  horror  lay  upon  his  soul  like  ink — 
as  black  as  the  silhouetted  rails  and  masts  and  rigging 
of  the  Poonah  on  her  dead  white  decks.  He  could  win 
her  heart  only  to  lose  his  world.  And  still  he  loved,  still 
pursued  his  steadfast  way  toward  her,  knowing  that, 
were  he  to  find  her  and  his  passion  to  be  returned,  death 
alone  could  avert  their  union  in  marriage.  He  might 
not  forget  but  ...  he  loved.  With  him  the  high 
wind  of  Romance  was  a  living  gale,  levelling  every  ob- 
stacle between  him  and  the  desire  of  his  heart. 

This  is  to  be  borne  in  mind:  it  was  the  man's  first 
love.  Theretofore  the  habits  of  a  thinker  had  set  his  feet 
in  paths  apart  from  those  of  other  men.  Pretty  women 
he  had  always  admired — from  a  discreet  distance;  that 
distance  abridged,  he  had  always  found  himself  a  little 
afraid  of  and  dismayed  by  them.  They  were  the  world's 


132  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

disturbing  element;  they  took  men's  lives  in  the  rosy 
hollows  of  their  palms  and  moulded  them  as  they  would. 
While  Amber  had  desired  to  mould  his  own  life.  The 
theme  of  love  that  runs  a  golden  thread  through  the 
drab  fabric  of  existence  had  to  him  been  an  illusion — 
a  hallucination  to  which  others  were  subject,  from  which 
he  was  happily,  if  unaccountably,  exempt.  But  that  had 
been  yesterday ;  to-day  .  .  . 

In  the  afternoon  the  Poonah  touched  at  Diamond 
Harbour,  landing  the  majority  of  her  passengers.  Am- 
ber was  among  those  few  who  remained  aboard. 

When  the  steamer  swung  off  from  the  jetty  and,  now 
aided  by  a  favourable  tide,  resumed  her  progress  up  the 
river,  he  replaced  his  notice  on  the  bulletin-board  with 
one  offering  a  hundred  guineas  for  the  return  of  the 
photograph  before  they  docked  in  the  port  of  Calcutta ; 
the  offer  of  fifty  guineas  for  its  return  to  the  Great 
Eastern  Hotel  remained  unaltered. 

His  anticipations  were  not  disappointed;  positively 
nothing  came  of  it.  All  afternoon  the  Poonah  plodded 
steadily  on  toward  the  pall  of  smoke  that  hemmed  the 
northern  horizon.  The  reedy  river  banks  narrowed  and 
receded,  gorgeous  with  colour,  unvaryingly  monotonous, 
revealing  nothing.  Behind  walls  of  rank  foliage,  dense 
green  curtains  almost  impenetrable  even  to  light,  the  flat 
and  spongy  delta  of  the  Ganges  lay  decorously  screened. 
If  now  and  again  the  hangings  parted  they  disclosed 
nothing  more  than  a  brief  vista  of  half -stagnant  water 
or  a  little  clearing,  half -overgrown,  with  the  crumbling 
red  brick  walls  of  some  roofless  and  abandoned  dwelling. 

In  the  lavender  and  gold  and  scarlet  of  a  windless 


FIRST  STEPS  133 

sunset,  Calcutta  lifted  suddenly  up  before  them,  a  fairy 
city,  mystic  and  unreal  with  its  spires  and  domes  and 
minarets  a-glare  with  hot  colour  behind  a  hedge  of  etched 
black  masts  and  funnels — all  dimmed  and  made  indefi- 
nite by  a  heavy  dun  haze  of  smoke:  lifted  up  in  glory 
against  the  evening  sky  and  was  blotted  out  as  if  by 
magic  by  the  swooping  night;  then  lived  again  in  a 
myriad  lights  pin-pricked  upon  the  dense  bluish-black- 
ness. 

The  Poonah  slipped  in  to  her  dock  under  cover  of 
darkness.  Amber,  disembarking  with  Doggott,  climbed 
into  an  open  ghari  on  the  landing  stage  and  was  driven 
swiftly  to  his  hotel. 

As  he  alighted  and,  leaving  Doggott  to  settle  with 
the  ghariwallah,  crossed  the  sidewalk  to  the  hotel  en- 
trance, a  beggar  slipped  through  the  throng  of  way- 
farers, whining  at  his  elbow: 

"  Give,  O  give,  Protector  of  the  Poor !  " 

Preoccupied,  Amber  hardly  heard,  and  passed  on ;  but 
the  native  stuck  leech-like  to  his  side. 

"  Give,  hazoor — and  the  mercy  of  God  shall  be  upon 
the  Heaven-born  for  ten-thousand  years !  " 

Now  "  Heaven-born  "  is  flattery  properly  reserved 
for  those  who  sit  in  high  places.  Amber  turned  and 
eyed  the  man  curiously,  at  the  same  time  dropping  into 
the  filthy,  importunate  palm'  a  few  annas. 

"  May  the  shadow  of  the  Heaven-born  be  long  upon 
the  land,  when  he  shall  have  passed  through  the  Gateway 
of  Swords!" 

And  like  a  flash  the  man  was  gone — dodging  nimbly 
round  the  ghari  and  across  Old  Court  House  Street, 


134  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

losing  himself  almost  instantly  in  the  press  of  early 
evening  traffic. 

"The  devil!"  said  Amber  thoughtfully.  "Why 
should  it  be  assumed  that  I  have  any  shadow  of  an  inten- 
tion of  entering  that  damnable  Gateway  of  Swords?  " 

An  incident  at  the  desk,  while  he  was  arranging  for 
his  room,  further  mystified  him.  He  had  given  his  name 
to  the  clerk,  who  looked  up,  smiling. 

"  Mr.  David  Amber  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Why,  yes " 

"  We  were  expecting  you,  sir.  You  came  by  the 
Poonah?  " 

"  Yes,  but " 

"  There's  a  note  for  you."  The  man  turned  to  a  rack, 
sorting  out  a  small  square  envelope  from  others  pigeon- 
holed under  "  A." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  Sophia  Farrell  had  been  ad- 
vised of  his  coming?  Amber's  hand  trembled  slightly 
with  eagerness  and  excitement  as  he  took  the  missive. 

"  An  Eurasian  boy  left  it  for  you  half  an  hour  ago," 
said  the  clerk. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Amber,  controlling  himself 
sufficiently  to  wait  until  he  should  be  conducted  to  his 
room  before  opening  the  note. 

It  was  not,  he  observed  later,  superscribed  in  a  femi- 
nine hand.  Could  it  be  from  Quain's  friend  Laber- 
touche?  Who  else?  .  .  .  Amber  lifted  his  shoulders 
resignedly.  "  I  wish  Quain  had  minded  his  own  busi- 
ness," he  said  ungratefully ;  "  I  can  take  care  of  myself. 
This  Labertouche  '11  probably  make  life  a  misery  for 
me." 


FIRST  STEPS  135 

There  was  a  quality  in  the  note,  however,  to  make  him 
forget  his  resentment  of  Quain's  well-meant  interference. 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  it  began  formally :  "  Quain's  letter 
did  not  reach  me  until  this  afternoon ;  a  circumstance 
which  I  regret.  Otherwise  I  should  be  better  prepared 
to  assist  you.  I  have,  on  the  other  hand,  set  afoot  en- 
quiries which  may  shortly  result  in  some  interesting  in- 
formation bearing  upon  the  matters  which  engage  you. 
I  expect  to  have  news  of  the  Fs.  to-night,  and  shall  be 
glad  to  communicate  it  to  you  at  once.  I  am  presum- 
ing that  you  purpose  losing  no  time  in  attending  to  the 
affair  of  the  goldsmith,  but  I  take  the  liberty  of  advis- 
ing you  that  to  attempt  to  find  him  without  proper 
guidance  or  preparation  would  be  an  undertaking  haz- 
ardous in  the  extreme.  May  I  offer  you  my  services? 
If  you  decide  to  accept  them,  be  good  enough  to  come 
before  ten  to-night  to  the  sailors'  lodging  house  known 
as  *  Honest  George's,'  back  of  the  Lai  Bazaar,  and  ask 
for  Honest  George  himself,  refraining  from  mentioning 
my  name.  Dress  yourself  in  your  oldest  and  shabbiest 
clothing;  you  cannot  overdo  this,  since  the  neighbour- 
hood is  questionable  and  a  well-dressed  man  would  imme- 
diately become  an  object  of  suspicion.  Do  not  wear  the 
ring;  keep  it  about  you,  out  of  sight.  Should  this  fail 
to  reach  you  in  time,  try  to-morrow  night  between  eight 
and  ten.  You  would  serve  us  both  well  by  burning  this 
immediately.  Pray  believe  me  yours  to  command  in  all 
respects." 

There  was  no  signature. 

Amber  frowned  and  whistled  over  this.  "  Undoubt- 
edly from  Labertouche,"  he  considered.  "  But  why  this 


136  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

flavour  of  intrigue?  Does  he  know  anything  more 
than  I  do?  I  presume  he  must.  It  'd  be  a  great  com- 
fort if  .  .  .  Hold  on.  '  News  of  the  Fs.'  That  spells 
the  Farrells.  How  in  blazes  does  he  know  anything 
about  the  Farrells?  I  told  Quain  nothing.  .  .  .  Can 
it  be  a  trap  ?  Is  it  possible  that  the  chap  who  took  that 
photograph  recognised  .  .  .  ? " 

The  problem  held  him  in  perplexity  throughout  the 
evening  meal.  He  turned  it  over  this  way  and  that 
without  being  able  to  arrive  at  any  comforting  solu- 
tion. Impulse  in  the  end  decided  him — impulse  and  a 
glance  at  his  watch  which  told  him  that  the  time  grew 
short.  "  I'll  go,"  he  declared,  "  no  matter  what.  It's 
nearly  nine,  but  the  Lai  Bazaar's  not  far." 

In  the  face  of  Doggott's  unbending  disapproval  he 
left  the  hotel  some  twenty  minutes  later,  having  levied 
on  Doggott's  wardrobe  for  suitable  clothing.  Dressed 
in  an  old  suit  of  soft  grey  serge,  somewhat  too  large  for 
him,  and  wearing  a  grey  felt  hat  with  the  brim  pulled 
down  over  his  eyes,  he  felt  that  he  was  not  easily  to  be 
identified  with  his  every-day  self — the  David  Amber 
whose  exacting  yet  conservative  "  correctness  "  had  be- 
come a  by-word  with  his  friends. 

Once  away  from  the  Great  Eastern  he  quietly  in- 
sinuated himself  into  the  tide  of  the  city's  night  life  that 
tirelessly  ebbs  and  flows  north  of  Dalhousie  Square — 
the  restless  currents  of  native  life  that  move  ceaselessly 
in  obedience  to  impulses  so  meaningless  and  strange  to 
the  Occidental  understanding.  Before  he  realised  it  he 
had  left  civilisation  behind  him  and  was  breathing  the 
atmosphere,  heady  and  weird,  of  the  Thousand-and-One 


FIRST  STEPS  137 

Nights.  The  Lai  Bazaar  seethed  round  him  noisily, 
with  a  roaring  not  unlike  that  of  a  surf  in  the  hearing 
of  him  who  had  so  long  lived  separate  from  such  scenes. 
But  gradually  the  strangeness  of  it  passed  away  and  he 
began  to  feel  at  home.  And  ere  long  he  passed  in  a 
single  stride  from  the  glare  of  many  lights  and  the 
tumult  of  a  hundred  tongues  to  the  dark  and  the  quiet 
hush  of  an  alley  that  wormed  a  sinuous  way  through 
the  hinterland  of  the  bazaar.  Here  the  air  hung  close 
and  still  and  gravid  with  the  odour  of  the  East,  half 
stench,  half  perfume,  wholly  individual  and  indescrib- 
able; here  black  shadows  clung  jealously  to  black  and 
slimy  walls,  while  lighter  ones  but  vaguely  suggestive 
of  robed  figures  glided  silently  hither  and  yon;  and 
odd  noises,  whispers,  sobs,  sounds  of  laughter  and  of 
rage,  assailed  the  ear  and  excited  the  imagination.  .  .  . 

At  a  corner  where  there  was  more  light  he  came  upon 
a  policeman  whose  tunic,  helmet,  and  truncheon  were  so 
closely  patterned  after  those  of  the  London  Bobby  that 
the  simple  sight  of  them  was  calculated  to  revive  con- 
fidence in  the  security  of  one's  person.  He  inspected 
Amber  shrewdly  while  the  latter  was  asking  his  way  to 
Honest  George's,  and  in  response  jerked  a  white-gloved 
thumb  down  the  wide  thoroughfare. 

"  You  carn't  miss  it,  sir — s'ylors'  boardin'-'ouse,  all 
lit  up  and  likely  with  a  row  on  at  the  bar.  Mind  your 
eye,  guv'nor.  It  ayn't  a  plyce  you'd  ought  to  visit  on 
your  lone." 

"  Thanks ;  I've  business  there.  I  reckon  to  take  care 
of  myself." 

Nevertheless  it  was  with  a  mind  preyed  upon  by  fore- 


138  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

bodings  that  Amber  stumbled  down  the  cobbled  way, 
reeking  with  filth,  toward  the  establishment  of  Honest 
George.  Why  on  earth  should  Labertouche  make  an  ap- 
pointment in  so  unholy  a  spot?  Amber's  doubts  revived 
and  he  became  more  than  half  persuaded  that  this  must 
be  a  snare  devised  by  those  acute  intelligences  which  had 
instigated  both  the  theft  of  the  photograph  and  that 
snarled  mock-benediction  of  the  mendicant. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  he  admitted  ruefully;  "it's  so 
canny." 

He  stopped  in  front  of  a  building  whose  squat  brick 
fa9ade  was  lettered  with  the  reassuring  sobriquet  of  its 
proprietor.  A  bench,  running  the  width  of  the  struc- 
ture, was  thick  with  sprawling  loafers,  who  smoked  and 
spat  and  spoke  a  jargon  of  the  seas,  the  chief  part  of 
which  was  blasphemy.  Within,  visible  through  win- 
dows never  closed,  was  a  crowded  barroom  ablaze  with 
flaring  gas-jets,  uproarious  with  voices  thick  with 
drink. 

One  needed  courage  of  no  common  order  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  that  rowdy  room  and  brave  the  more  secret 
dangers  of  the  infamous  den.  "  You've  got  to  have  your 
nerve  with  you,"  Amber  put  it.  "  But  I  suppose  it's 
all  in  the  game.  Let's  chance  it."  And  he  entered. 

Compared  with  the  atmosphere  of  that  public-room 
a  blast  from  Hell  were  sweet  and  cooling,  thought  Am- 
ber ;  the  first  whiff  he  had  of  it  all  but  staggered  him ; 
and  he  found  himself  gasping,  perspiration  starting 
from  every  pore.  Faint  with  disgust  he  elbowed  his 
way  through  the  mob  to  the  bar,  thankful  that  those 
about  him,  absorbed  in  the  engrossing  occupation  of 


FIRST  STEPS  139 

getting  drunk,  paid  him  not  the  least  heed.  Flatten- 
ing himself  against  the  rail  he  cast  about  for  the  pro- 
prietor. A  blowsy,  sweating  barmaid  caught  his  eye 
and  without  a  word  slapped  down  upon  the  sloppy 
counter  before  him  a  glass  four  fingers  deep  with  un- 
speakable whiskey.  And  he  realised  that  he  would  have 
to  drink  it;  to  refuse  would  be  to  attract  attention, 
perhaps  with  unpleasant  consequences.  "  It's  more  than 
I  bargained  for,"  he  grumbled,  making  a  pretence  of 
swallowing  the  dose,  and  to  his  huge  relief  managing 
to  spill  two-thirds  of  it  down  the  front  of  his  coat. 
What  he  swallowed  bit  like  an  acid.  Tears  came  to  his 
eyes,  but  he  choked  down  the  cough,  and  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak  paid  the  girl.  "  Where's  the  boss  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Who?  "  Her  glance  was  penetrating.  "  Oh,  he's 
wytin'  for  you."  She  nodded,  lifting  a  shrill  voice. 
"  Garge,  O  Garge !  'Ere's  that  Yankee."  With  a  bare 
red  elbow  she  indicated  the  further  end  of  the  room. 
"  You'll  find  'im  down  there,"  she  said,  her  look  not 
unkindly. 

Amber  thanked  her  quietly  and,  extricating  himself 
from  the  press  round  the  bar,  made  his  way  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated.  A  couple  of  billiard  tables  with  a  small 
mob  of  onlookers  hindered  him,  but  by  main  strength 
and  diplomacy  he  wormed  his  way  past  and  reached  the 
rear  of  the  room.  There  were  fewer  loafers  here  and 
he  had  little  hesitation  about  selecting  from  an  attend- 
ant circle  of  sycophants  the  genius  of  the  dive — Honest 
George  himself,  a  fat  and  burly  ruffian  who  filled  to 
overflowing  the  inadequate  accommodation  of  an  arm- 


140  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

chair.  Sitting  thus  enthroned  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his 
greasy  and  unshaven  red  face  irradiating  a  sort  of  low 
good-humour  that  was  belied  by  the  cold  cunning  of  his 
little  eyes,  he  fulfilled  admirably  the  requirements  of  the 
role  he  played  self-cast. 

"  'Ere,  you !  "  he  hailed  Amber  brusquely.  "  You're 
a  'ell  of  a  job-'unter,  ain't  you?  Mister  Abercrombie's 
been  wytin'  for  you  this  hour  gone.  'Know  the  w'y 
upstairs?  " 

His  tone  was  boisterous  enough  to  fix  upon  Amber  the 
attention  of  the  knot  of  loafers  round  the  arm-chair. 
Amber  felt  himself  under  the  particular  regard  of  a 
dozen  pair  of  eyes,  felt  that  his  measure  was  taken  and 
his  identification  complete.  Displeased,  he  answered 
curtly :  "  No." 

"  This  w'y,  then."  Honest  George  hoisted  himself 
ponderously  out  of  his  arm-chair  and  lumbered  heavily 
across  the  room,  shouldering  the  crowd  aside  with  a 
high-handed  contempt  for  the  pack  of  them.  Jerking 
open  a  small  door  in  the  side  wall,  he  beckoned  Amber 
on  with  a  backward  nod  of  his  heavy  head.  "  Be  a  bit 
lively,  carn't  you  ?  "  he  growled ;  and  Amber,  in  despite 
of  qualms  of  distrust,  followed  the  fellow  into  a  small 
and  noisome  hallway  lighted  by  a  single  gas-jet.  On 
the  one  hand  a  flight  of  rickety  steps  ran  up  into  re- 
pellent obscurity ;  on  the  other  a  low  door  stood  open  to 
the  night. 

The  crimp  lowered  his  voice.  "  Your  friend's  this  w'y." 
He  waved  his  fat  red  hand  toward  the  door.  "  Them 
fools  back  there  '11  think  you're  tryin'  for  a  berth 
with  Abercrombie,  the  ship-master.  I  'opes  you'll  not 


FIRST  STEPS  141 

tyke  offense  at  the  w'y  I  'ad  to  rag  you  back  there, 
sir." 

"  No,"  said  Amber,  and  Honest  George  led  the  way 
out  into  a  small,  flagged  well  between  towering  black 
walls  and  left  him  at  the  threshold  of  a  second  doorway. 
"  Two  flights  up,  the  door  at  the  top,"  he  said ;  "  knock 
twice  and  then  twice."  And  without  waiting  for  an 
answer  he  lurched  heavily  back  to  his  own  establish- 
ment. 

Amber  watched  his  broad  back  fill  the  dimly-lighted 
doorway  opposite  and  disappear,  of  two  minds  whether 
or  not  to  turn  tail  and  run.  Suspicious  enough  in  the 
beginning,  the  affair  had  now  an  exceeding  evil  smell — 
as  repulsive  figuratively  as  was  the  actual  effluvium  of 
the  premises.  He  hung  hesitant  in  doubt,  with  a  heart 
oppressed  by  those  grim  and  silent  walls  of  blackness 
that  loomed  above  him.  With  feet  slipping  on  slimy  flags 
he  might  be  pardoned  for  harbouring  suspicions  of  some 
fouler  treachery.  The  yawning  mouth  of  the  narrow 
doorway,  with  the  blackness  of  Erebus  within,  was 
deterring  at  its  best;  in  such  a  hole  a  man  might  be 
snared  and  slain  and  his  screams,  though  they  rang  to 
high  Heaven,  would  fall  meaningless  on  mundane  ears. 
Honest  George's  with  its  flare  of  lights  and  its  crowd 
had  been  questionable  enough  .  .  . 

With  a  shrug,  at  length,  he  took  his  courage  in  his 
hands — and  his  life,  too,  for  all  he  knew  to  the  con- 
trary— and  moved  on  into  the  blackness,  groping  his  way 
cautiously  down  a  short  corridor,  his  fingers  on  either 
side  brushing  walls  of  rotten  plaster.  He  had  absolutely 
nothing  to  guide  him  beyond  the  crimp's  terse  instruc- 


142  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

tions.  Underfoot  the  flooring  seemed  to  sag  ominously ; 
it  creaked  hideously.  Abruptly  he  stumbled  against  an 
obstruction,  halted,  and  lighted  a  match. 

The  insignificant  flame  showed  him  a  flight  of  stairs, 
leading  up  to  darkness.  With  a  drumming  heart  he 
began  to  ascend,  counting  twenty-one  steps  ere  his  feet 
failed  to  find  another.  Then  groping  again,  one  hand 
encountered  a  baluster-rail;  with  this  for  guide  he 
turned  and  followed  it  until  it  began  to  slant  upwards. 
This  time  he  counted  sixteen  steps  before  his  eyes,  rising 
above  the  level  of  the  upper  floor,  discovered  to  him  a  thin 
line  of  light,  bright  along  the  threshold  of  a  door.  He 
began  to  breathe  more  freely,  yet  apprehension  kept 
him  strung  up  to  a  high  tension  of  nerves. 

He  knuckled  the  door  loudly — one  double  knock  fol- 
lowed by  another. 

From  within  a  voice  called  cheerfully,  in  English: 
"  Come  in." 

He  fumbled  for  the  knob,  found  and  turned  it,  and 
entered  a  small,  low-ceiled  chamber,  very  cosy  with 
lamplight,  and  simply  furnished  with  a  single  chair,  a 
charpoy,  a  water- jug,  a  large  mirror,  and  beneath  the 
latter  a  dressing-table  littered  with  a  collection  of  toilet 
gear,  cosmetics  and  bottles,  which  would  have  done  credit 
to  an  actress. 

There  was  but  a  single  person  in  the  room  and  he  oc- 
cupied the  chair  before  the  dressing-table.  As  Amber 
came  in,  he  rose;  a  middle-aged  babu  in  a  suit  of  pink 
satin,  very  dirty.  In  one  hand  something  caught  the 

glittering. 
Oah,  Mister  Amber,  I  believe?  "  he  gurgled,  oily 


FIRST  STEPS  143 

and  affable.  "  Believe  me  most  charmed  to  make  ac- 
quaintance." And  he  laughed  agreeably. 

But  Amber's  face  had  darkened.  With  an  oath  he 
sprang  back,  threw  his  weight  against  the  door,  and 
with  his  left  hand  shot  the  bolt,  while  his  right  whipped 
from  his  pocket  Rutton's  automatic  pistol. 

"  Drop  that  gun,  you  monkey ! "  he  cried  sharply. 
"  I  was  afraid  of  this,  but  I  think  you  and  I'll  have  an 
accounting  before  any  one  else  gets  in  here." 


CHAPTER  IX 

PINK    SATIN 

SHAKING  with  rage,  Amber  stood  for  a  long  moment 
with  pistol  poised  and  eyes  wary;  then,  bewildered,  he 
slowly  lowered  the  weapon.  "  Well,"  he  observed  re- 
flectively, "  I'm  damned."  For  the  glittering  thing  he 
had  mistaken  for  a  revolver  lay  at  his  feet ;  and  it  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  shoehorn.  While  as  for 
the  babu,  he  had  dropped  back  into  the  chair  and  given 
way  to  a  rude  but  reassuring  paroxysm  of  gusty, 
silent  laughter. 

"  I'm  a  fool,"  said  Amber ;  "  and  if  I'm  not  mistaken 
you're  Labertouche." 

With  a  struggle  the  babu  overcame  his  emotion.  "  I 
am,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am,"  he  gasped.  "  And  I  owe  you 
an  apology.  Upon  my  word,  I'd  forgotten ;  one  grows 
so  accustomed  to  living  the  parts  in  these  masquerades, 
after  a  time,  that  one  forgets.  Forgive  me."  He 
offered  a  hand  which  Amber  grasped  warmly  in  his 
unutterable  relief.  "  I'm  really  delighted  to  meet  you," 
continued  Labertouche  seriously.  "  Any  man  who 
knows  India  can't  help  being  glad  to  meet  the  author  of 
'  The  Peoples  of  the  Hindu  Kush.'  " 

"  You  did  frighten  me,"  Amber  confessed,  smiling. 
"  I  didn't  know  what  to  expect — or  suspect.  Certainly," 
— with  a  glance  round  the  incongruously  furnished 

144 


PINK  SATIN  145 

room — "  I  never  looked  forward  to  anything  like  this — 
or  you,  in  that  get-up." 

"  You  wouldn't,  you  know,"  Labertouche  admitted 
gravely.  *  I  might  have  warned  you  in  my  note ;  but 
that  was  a  risky  thing,  at  best.  I  feared  to  go  into 
detail — it  might  have  fallen  into  the  wrong  hands." 

"  Whose?  "  demanded  Amber. 

"  That,  my  dear  man,  is  what  we're  here  to  find  out — 
if  we  can.  But  sit  down ;  we  shall  have  to  have  quite  a 
bit  of  talk."  He  scraped  a  heap  of  gaily-coloured 
native  garments  off  one  end  of  the  charpoy  and  motioned 
Amber  to  the  chair.  At  the  same  time  he  fished  a  cigar- 
case  out  of  some  recess  in  his  clothing.  "  These  are 
good,"  he  remarked,  opening  the  case  and  offering  it  to 
Amber ;  "  I  daren't  smoke  anything  half  so  good  when 
at  work.  The  native  tobacco  is  abominable,  you  know — 
quite  three-fourths  filth." 

"  At  work  ?  "  questioned  Amber,  clipping  the  end  of 
his  cigar  and  lighting  it.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
travel  round  in  those  clothes?  " 

"  But  I  do.  It's  business  with  me — though  few  people 
know  it.  Quain  didn't ;  only  I  had  a  chance,  one  day, 
to  tell  him  some  rather  startling  facts  about  native  life. 
This  sort  of  thing,  done  properly,  gives  a  man  insight 
into  a  lot  of  unusual  things." 

Labertouche  puffed  his  cigar  into  a  glow  and  leaned 
back,  clasping  one  knee  with  two  brown  hands  and 
squinting  up  at  the  low,  discoloured  ceiling.  And  Am- 
ber, looking  him  over,  was  amazed  by  the  absolute 
fidelity  of  his  make-up ;  the  brownish  stain  on  face  and 
hands,  the  high-cut  patent-leather  boots,  the  open-work 


146  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

socks  through  which  his  tinted  calves  showed  grossly, 
his  shapeless,  baggy,  soiled  garments — all  were  hope- 
lessly babu-ish. 

"  And  if  it  isn't  done  properly?  " 

"  Oh,  then !  "  Labertouche  laughed,  lifting  his 

shoulders  expressively.  "  No  Englishman  incapable  of 
living  up  .to  a  disguise  has  ever  tried  it  more  than  once 
in  India ;  few,  very  few,  have  lived  to  tell  of  the  experi- 
ment." 

"  You're  connected  with  the  police  ?  "  Amber's  brows 
contracted  as  he  remembered  Rutton's  emphatic  pro- 
hibition. 

But  Quain  had  not  failed  to  mention  that.  "  Officially, 
no,"  said  Labertouche  readily.  "  Now  and  again,  of 
course,  I  run  across  a  bit  of  valuable  information ;  and 
then,  somehow,  indirectly,  the  police  get  wind  of  it. 
But  this  going  fantee  in  an  amateur  way  is  simply  my 
hobby ;  I've  been  at  it  for  years — and  very  successfully, 
too.  Of  course,  it'll  have  its  end.  One's  bound  to  slip 
up  eventually.  You  can  train  yourself  to  live  the  life 
of  the  native,  but  you  can't  train  your  mind  to  think  as 
he  thinks.  That's  how  the  missteps  happen.  Some 
day  i.,  .  ."  He  sighed,  not  in  the  least  unhappily. 
,.  .  .  "  Some  day  I'll  dodge  into  this  hole,  or  another 
that  I  know  of,  put  on  somebody  else's  rags — say,  these 
I'm  wearing — and  inconspicuously  become  a  mysterious 
disappearance.  That's  how  it  is  with  all  of  us  who  go 
in  for  this  sort  of  thing.  But  it's  like  opium,  you  know ; 
you  try  it  the  first  time  for  the  lark  of  it;  the  end  is 
tragedy." 

Amber  drew  a  long  breath,  his  eyes  glistening  with 


PINK  SATIN  147 

wonder  and  admiration  of  the  man.  "  You  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  you  run  such  risks  for  the  pure  love  of  it  ?  " 

"  Well  .  .  .  perhaps  not  altogether.  But  we 
needn't  go  into  details,  need  we?  "  Labertouche's  smile 
robbed  the  rebuke  of  its  sting.  "  The  opium  simile  is  a 
very  good  one,  though  I  say  it  who  shouldn't.  One 
acquires  a  taste  for  the  forbidden,  and  one  hires  a  little 
room  like  this  from  an  unprincipled  blackguard  like 
Honest  George,  and  insensibly  one  goes  deeper  and 
deeper  until  one  gets  beyond  one's  depth.  That  is  all. 
It  explains  me  sufficiently.  And,"  he  chuckled,  "  you'd 
never  have  known  it  if  your  case  hadn't  been  excep- 
tional." 

"  It  is,  I  think."  Amber's  expression  became  anxious. 
"  I  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  it — now  Quain's  told 
you.  And,  I  say,  what  did  you  mean  by  *  news  of  the 
Fs.'?" 

"  News  of  the  Farrells — father  and  daughter,  of 
course."  Labertouche's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  But  how  in  the  name  of  all  that's  strange !  " 

"  Did  I  connect  the  affair  Rutton  with  the  Farrells? 
At  first  by  simple  inference.  You  were  charged  with  a 
secret  errand,  demanding  the  utmost  haste,  by  Rutton ; 
your  first  thought  was  to  travel  by  the  longer  route — 
which,  as  it  happens,  Miss  Farrell  had  started  upon  a 
little  while  before.  You  had  recently  met  her,  and  I've 
heard  she's  rather  a  striking  young  woman.  You 
see?" 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Amber  sheepishly.    "  But " 

"  And  then  I  remembered  something,"  interrupted 
Labertouche.  "  I  recalled  Rutton.  I  knew  him  years 


148  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ago,  when  he  was  a  young  man.  .  .  .  You  know  the 
yarn  about  him?  " 

"  A  little — mighty  little.  I  know  now  that  he  was  a 
Rajput — though  he  never  told  me  that;  I  know  that  he 
married  a  Russian  noblewoman  " — Amber  hesitated  im- 
perceptibly— "  that  she  died  soon  after,  that  he  chose 
to  live  out  of  India  and  to  die  rather  than  return  to  it." 

"  He  was,"  said  Labertouche,  "  a  singular  man,  an 
exotic  result  of  the  unnatural  conditions  we  English 
have  brought  about  in  India.  The  word  renegade  de- 
scribes him  aptly,  I  think:  he  was  born  and  bred  a 
Brahmin,  a  Rajput,  of  the  hottest  and  bluest  blood 
in  Rajputana;  he  died  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a 
European — with  an  English  heart.  He  is — was — by 
rights  Maharana  of  Khandawar.  As  the  young  Ma- 
haraj  he  was  sent  to  England  to  be  educated.  I'm 
told  his  record  at  Oxford  was  a  brilliant  one.  He  be- 
came a  convert  to  Christianity — that  was  predestined — 
was  admitted  to  the  Church  of  England,  a  communi- 
cant. When  his  father  died  and  he  was  summoned  to  take 
his  place,  Rutton  at  first  refused.  Pressure  was  brought 
to  bear  upon  him  by  the  English  Government  and  he 
returned,  was  enthroned,  and  for  a  little  time  ruled 
Khandawar.  It  was  then  that  I  knew  him.  He  was 
continually  dissatisfied,  however,  and  after  a  year  or  two 
disappeared.  It  was  rumoured  that  he'd  struck  a  bar- 
gain with  his  prime-minister,  one  Salig  Singh.  At  all 
events  Salig  Singh  contrived  to  usurp  the  throne,  Gov- 
ernment offering  no  objection.  Rutton  turned  up 
eventually  in  Russia  and  married  a  woman  there  who 
died  in  childbirth — twenty  years  ago,  perhaps.  The 


PINK  SATIN  149 

child  did  not  survive  its  mother  ;.  -.  ."  Labertouche 
paused  deliberately,  his  glance  searching  Amber's  face. 
"  So  the  report  ran,  at  least,"  he  concluded  quietly. 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  Amber  countered 
evasively. 

"  Government  watches  its  wards  very  tenderly,"  said 
Labertouche  with  a  grin.  "  Besides,  India's  a  great 
place  for  gossip.  .  .  .  And  then,"  he  pursued  tena- 
ciously, "  I  remembered  something  else.  I  recalled  that 
Rutton  had  one  very  close  friend,  an  Englishman  named 
Farrell " 

"  Oh,  what's  the  use  ? "  Amber  cut  in  nervously. 
"  You  understand  the  situation  too  well.  It's  no  good 
my  trying  to  keep  anything  from  you." 

"  Such  as  the  fact  that  Colonel  Farrell  adopted  Rut- 
ton's  daughter,  who,  as  it  happens,  did  survive  her 
mother?  Yes ;  I  knew  that — or,  rather,  part  I  knew  and 
part  I  guessed.  But  don't  worry,  Mr.  Amber ;  I'll  keep 
the  secret." 

"  For  the  girl's  sake,"  said  Amber,  twisting  his  hands 
together. 

"  For  her  sake.    I  pledge  you  my  word." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  And  now  .  .  .  for  what  purpose  did  Rutton  ask 
you  to  come  to  India?  Wasn't  it  to  get  Miss  Farrell 
out  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  I  think  you're  the  devil  himself,"  said  Amber. 

"  I'm  not,"  confessed  Labertouche ;  "  but  I  am  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Indian  Secret  Service — not  officially  con- 
nected with  the  police,  observe ! — and  I  know  a  deal  that 
you  don't.  I  think,  in  short,  I  can  place  my  finger  on 


150  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  reason  why  Rutton  was  so  concerned  to  get  his 
daughter  out  of  the  country." 

Amber  looked  his  question. 

"  You  read  the  papers,  don't  you,  in  America?  " 

"  Rather."     Amber  smiled. 

"  You've  surely  not  been  so  blind  as  to  miss  the  occa- 
sional reports  that  leak  out  about  native  unrest  in 
India?" 

"  Surely  you  don't  mean " 

"  I  assuredly  do  mean  that  the  Second  Mutiny  im- 
pends," declared  Labertouche  solemnly.  "  Such,  at 
least,  is  my  belief,  and  such  is  the  belief  of  every  think- 
ing man  in  India  who  is  at  all  informed.  The  entire 
country  is  undermined  with  conspiracy  and  sedition; 
day  after  day  a  vast,  silent,  underground  movement 
goes  on,  fomenting  rebellion  against  the  English  rule. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  there's  no  stopping  it,  no  way  of 
scotching  the  serpent ;  its  heads  are  myriad,  seemingly. 
And  yet — I  don't  know — since  yesterday  I  have  hoped 
that  through  you  we  might  eventually  strike  to  the  heart 
of  the  movement." 

"  Through  me !  "  cried  Amber,  startled. 

Labertouche  nodded.  "  Just  so.  The  information 
you  have  already  brought  us  is  invaluable.  Have  you 
thought  of  the  significance  of  Chatter ji's  '  Message  of 
the  Bell'?" 

*  Even  now,'  "  Amber  quoted  mechanically,  "  '  The 
Gateway  of  Swords  yawns  wide,  that  he  who  is  without 
fear  may  pass  within;  to  the  end  that  the  Body  be 
purged  of  tlie  Scarlet  Evil.'  "  He  shook  his  head  mysti- 
fied. "  No;  I  don't  understand." 


PINK  SATIN  151 

"  It's  so  simple,"  urged  Labertouche ;  "  all  but  the 
Gateway  of  Swords.  I  don't  place  that — yet.  .  .  .-. 
But  the  *  Body  ' — plainly  that  is  India ;  the  '  Scarlet 
Evil ' — could  anything  more  fittingly  describe  Eng- 
lish rule  from  the  native  point  of  view  ?  " 

Amber  felt  of  his  head  solicitously.  "  And  yet,"  he 
averred  plaintively,  "  it  doesn't  feel  like  wood." 

Labertouche  laughed  gently.  "  Now  to-night  you 
will  learn  something  from  this  Dhola  Baksh — something 
important,  undoubtedly.  May  I  see  this  ring — this 
Token?" 

Unbuttoning  his  shirt,  Amber  produced  the  Eye  from 
the  chamois  bag.  Labertouche  studied  it  for  a  long  time 
in  silence,  returning  it  with  an  air  of  deep  perturbation. 

"  The  thing  is  strange  to  me,"  he  said.  "  For  the 
present  we  may  dismiss  it  as  simply  what  it  pretends  to 
be — a  token,  a  sign  by  which  one  man  shall  know  an- 
other. .  .  .  Wear  it  but  turn  the  stone  in;  and  keep 
your  hands  in  your  pockets  when  we're  outside." 

Amber  obeyed.     "We'll  be  going,  now?  " 

"  Yes."  Labertouche  rose,  throwing  away  his  cigar 
and  stamping  out  its  fire. 

"But  the  Farrells?" 

"  Forgive  me ;  I  had  forgotten.  The  Farrells  are  at 
Darjeeling,  where  the  Colonel  is  stationed  just  now — 
happily  for  him." 

"  Then,"  said  Amber,  with  decision,  "  I  leave  for  Dar- 
jeeling to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  know  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't,"  agreed 
Labertouche.  "  If  anything  turns  up  I'll  contrive  to 
let  you  know."  He  looked  Amber  up  and  down  with  a 


152  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

glance  that  took  in  every  detail.  "  I'm  sorry/'  he  ob- 
served, "  you  couldn't  have  managed  to  look  a  trace 
shabbier.  Still,  with  a  touch  here  and  there,  you'll  do 
excellently  well  as  a  sailor  on  a  spree." 

"As  bad  as  that?" 

"  Oah,  my  dear  fallow !  " — it  was  now  the  babu  speak- 
ing, while  he  hopped  around  Amber  with  his  head  criti- 
cally to  one  side,  like  an  inquisitive  jackdaw,  now  and 
again  darting  forward  to  peck  at  him  with  hands  that 
nervously  but  deftly  arranged  details  of  his  attire  to 
please  a  taste  fastidious  and  exacting  in  such  matters — 
"  Oah,  my  dear  fallow,  surely  you  appreciate  danger  of 
venturing  into  nateeve  quarters  in  European  dress?  As 
regular-out-and-out  sahib,  I  am  meaning,  of  course. 
It  is  permeesible  for  riff-raff,  sailors  and  Tommies  from 
the  Fort,  and  soa  on,  to  indulge  in  debauchery  among 
nateeves,  but  first-class  sahib — Oah,  noah !  You  would 
be  mobbed  in  no-time-at-all,  where  we  are  going." 

"  All  right ;  I  guess  I  can  play  the  part,  babu.  At 
least,  I've  plenty  of  atmosphere,"  Amber  laughed,  men- 
tioning the  incident  of  the  peg  he  had  not  consumed 
over  Honest  George's  bar. 

"  I  had  noticed  that ;  a  happy  accident,  indeed.  I 
think  "  — Labertouche  stepped  back  to  look  Amber  over 
again — "  I  think  you  will  almost  do.  One  moment." 

He  seized  Amber's  hat  and,  dashing  it  violently  to  the 
floor,  deliberately  stamped  it  out  of  shape ;  when  restored 
to  its  owner  it  had  aged  five  years  in  less  than  half  as 
many  minutes.  Amber  laughed,  putting  it  on.  "  Surely 
you  couldn't  ask  me  to  look  more  disreputable,"  he  said 
with  a  dubious  survey  of  himself  in  the  mirror. 


PINK  SATIN  153 

His  collar  had  been  confiscated  with  his  tie;  his  coat 
collar  was  partially  turned  up  in  the  back;  what  was 
visible  of  his  shirt  was  indecently  dirty.  His  polished 
shoes  had  been  deprived  of  their  pristine  lustre  by 
means  of  a  damp  rag,  vigorously  applied,  and  then 
rubbed  with  dust.  An  artistic  stain  had  been  added  to 
one  of  his  sleeves  by  the  simple  device  of  smudging  it 
with  the  blacking  from  his  shoes.  As  for  his  hat,  with 
the  brim  pulled  down  in  front,  it  was  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  shocking. 

"  You'll  do,"  chuckled  Labertouche  approvingly. 
"  Just  ram  your  hands  into  your  trouser  pockets  with- 
out unbuttoning  your  coat,  and  shuffle  along  as  if  noc- 
turnal rambles  in  the  slums  of  Calcutta  were  an  every- 
day thing  to  you.  If  you're  spoken  to,  don't  betray 
too  much  familiarity  with  the  vernacular.  You  know 
about  the  limit  of  the  average  Tommy's  vocabulary; 
don't  go  beyond  it."  He  unbolted  and  locked  the  door 
by  which  Amber  had  entered,  putting  the  key  in  his 
pocket,  and  turned  to  a  second  door  across  the  room. 
"  We'll  leave  this  way ;  I  chose  this  place  because  it's 
a  regular  rabbit  warren,  with  half  a  dozen  entrances 
and  exits.  I'll  leave  you  in  a  passage  leading  to  the 
bazaar.  Wait  in  the  doorway  until  you  see  me  stroll 
past;  give  me  thirty  yards  lead  and  follow.  Keep  in 
the  middle  of  the  way,  avoid  a  crowd  as  the  plague,  and 
don't  lose  sight  of  me.  I'll  stop  in  front  of  Dohla 
Baksh's  shop  long  enough  to  light  a  cheroot  and  go 
on  without  looking  back.  When  you  come  out  I'll  be 
waiting  for  you.  If  we  lose  one  another,  get  back  to 
your  hotel  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  may  send  you 


154  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

word.  If  I  don't,  I  shall  understand  you've  taken 
the  first  morning  train  to  Darjeeling.  I  think  that's 
all." 

As  Amber  left  the  room  Labertouche  extinguished 
the  lamp,  shut  and  locked  the  door,  and  followed,  catch- 
ing Amber  by  the  arm  and  guiding  him  through  pitch 
darkness  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "  Don't  talk,"  he 
whispered ;  "  trust  me."  They  decended  an  interminable 
flight  of  steps,  passed  down  a  long,  echoing  corridor,  and 
again  descended.  From  the  foot  of  the  second  flight 
Labertouche  shunted  Amber  round  through  what  seemed 
a  veritable  maze  of  passages — in  which,  however,  he  was 
evidently  quite  at  home.  At  length,  "  Now  go  ahead!  " 
was  breathed  at  Amber's  ear  and  at  the  same  time  his 
arm  was  released. 

He  obeyed  blindly,  stumbling  down  a  reeking  cor- 
ridor, and  in  a  minute  more,  to  his  unutterable  relief, 
was  in  the  open  air  of  the  bazaar. 

Blinking  with  the  abrupt  transition  from  absolute 
night  to  garish  light,  he  skulked  in  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway,  waiting.  Beneath  his  gaze  Calcutta  paraded 
its  congress  of  peoples — a  comprehensive  collection  of 
specimens  of  every  tribe  in  Hindustan  and  of  nearly 
every  other  race  in  the  world  besides :  red-bearded  Delhi 
Pathans,  towering  Sikhs,  lean  sinewy  Rajputs  with 
bound  jaws,  swart  agile  Bhils,  Tommies  in  their  scarlet 
tunics,  Japanese  and  Chinese  in  their  distinctive  dress, 
short  and  sturdy  Gurkhas,  yellow  Saddhus,  Jats  stalk- 
ing proudly,  brawling  knots  of  sailormen  from  the 
Port,  sleek  Mahrattas,  polluted  Sansis,  Punjabis,  Ben- 
galis, priests,  beggars,  dancing  girls ;  a  blaze  of  colour 


PINK  SATIN  155 

ever  shifting,  a  Babel  of  tongues  never  stilled,  a  seething 
scum  on  a  witch's  brew  of  humanity.  ,.  .  . 

Like  a  fat,  tawdry  moth  in  his  garments  of  soiled  pink, 
a  babu  loitered  past,  with  never  a  sidelong  glance  for 
the  loaferish  figure  in  the  shadowed  doorway;  and  the 
latter  seemed  himself  absorbed  in  the  family  of  Eura- 
sians who  were  shrilly  squabbling  with  the  keeper  of  a 
vegetable-stall  adjacent.  But  presently  he  wearied  of 
their  noise,  yawned,  thrust  both  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets,  and  stumbled  away.  The  bazaar  accepted  him 
as  a  brother,  unquestioning,  and  he  picked  his  way 
through  it  with  an  ease  that  argued  nothing  but  abso- 
lute familiarity  with  his  surroundings.  But  always 
you  may  be  sure,  he  had  the  gleam  of  pink  satin  in  the 
corner  of  his  eye. 

Before  long  Pink  Satin  diverged  into  the  Chitpur 
Road,  with  Amber  a  discreet  shadow.  So  far  the  latter 
had  been  treading  known  ground,  but  a  little  later, 
when  Pink  Satin  dived  abruptly  into  a  darksome  alley- 
way to  the  right,  drawing  Amber  after  him  as  a  child 
drags  a  toy  on  a  string,  the  Virginian  lost  his  bearings 
utterly  and  was  thereafter  helplessly  dependent  upon  the 
flutter  of  Pink  Satin,  and  unworried  only  so  long  as  he 
could  see  him,  in  a  fidget  of  anxiety  whenever  the  laby- 
rinth shut  Labertouche  from  his  sight  for  a  moment  or 
two. 

It  was  quiet  enough  away  from  the  main  thorough- 
fare, but  with  a  sinister  quiet.  Tall  dwellings  marched 
shoulder  to  shoulder  along  the  ways,  shuttered,  dark, 
grim,  with  an  effect  of  conspirators,  their  heads  to- 
gether in  lawless  conference.  The  streets  were  intoler- 


156  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ably  narrow,  the  paving  a  farce;  pools  of  stagnant 
water  stood  in  the  depressions,  piles  of  refuse  banked 
the  walls.  The  fetid  air  hung  motionless  but  sibilant 
with  stealthy  footsteps  and  whisperings.  .  .  .  Prefer- 
able to  this  seemed  even  the  infinitely  more  dangerous 
and  odorous  Coolootollah  purlieus  into  which  they  pres- 
ently passed — nesting  place  though  it  were  for  the  city's 
most  evil  and  desperate  classes. 

In  time  broad  Machua  Bazaar  Street  received  them — 
Pink  Satin  and  the  sailorman  out  for  a  night  of  it. 
And  now  Pink  Satin  began  to  stroll  more  sedately,  mani- 
festing a  livelier  interest  in  the  sights  of  the  wayside. 
Amber's  impatience — for  he  guessed  that  they  neared 
the  goldsmith's  stall — increased  prodigiously ;  the  shops, 
the  stalls,  the  thatched  dance-halls  in  which  arose  the 
hideous  music  of  the  nautch,  had  no  lure  for  him,  though 
they  illustrated  all  that  was  most  evil  and  most  de- 
praved in  the  second  city  of  the  Empire.  He  was  only 
eager  to  have  done  with  this  unsavoury  adventure,  to 
know  again  the  clean  walls  of  his  room  in  the  Great 
Eastern,  to  taste  again  the  purer  air  of  the  Maidan. 

Without  warning  Pink  Satin  pulled  up,  extracted 
from  the  recesses  of  his  costume  a  long,  black  and 
vindictive-looking  native  cigar,  and  lighted  it,  thought- 
fully exhaling  the  smoke  through  his  nose  while  he  stared 
covetously  at  the  display  of  a  slipper-merchant  whose 
stand  was  over  across  from  the  stall  of  a  goldsmith. 

With  true  Oriental  deliberation  Pink  Satin  finally 
made  up  his  mind  to  move  on;  and  Amber  lurched 
heavily  into  the  premises  occupied  by  one  Dhola  Baksh, 
a  goldsmith. 


PINK  SATIN  157 

A  customer,  a  slim,  handsome  Malayan  youth,  for 
the  moment  held  the  attention  of  the  proprietor.  The 
two  were  haggling  with  characteristic  enjoyment  over  a 
transaction  which  seemed  to  involve  less  than  twenty 
rupees.  Amber  waited,  knowing  that  patience  must  be 
his  portion  until  the  bargain  should  be  struck.  Dhola 
Baksh  himself,  a  lean,  sharp-featured  Mahratta  grey 
with  age,  appraised  with  a  single  look  the  new  cus- 
tomer, and  returned  his  interest  to  the  Malay.  But 
Amber  garnered  from  that  glance  a  sensation  of  recog- 
nition. He  wondered  dimly,  why;  could  the  goldsmith 
have  been  warned  of  his  coming? 

Two  or  three  more  putative  customers  idled  into  the 
shop.  Beyond  its  threshold  the  stream  of  native  life 
rolled  on,  ceaselessly  fluent;  a  pageant  of  the  Middle 
Ages  had  been  no  more  fantastic  and  unreal  to  Western 
eyes.  Now  and  again  a  wayfarer  paused,  his  interest 
attracted  by  the  goldsmith's  rush  of  business. 

Unexpectedly  the  proprietor  made  a  substantial  con- 
cession. Money  passed  upon  the  instant,  sealing  the 
bargain.  The  Malay  rose  to  go.  Dhola  Baksh  lifted 
a  stony  stare  to  Amber. 

"  Your  pleasure,  sahib  ?  "  he  enquired  with  a  thinly- 
veiled  sneer.  What  need  to  show  deference  to  a  down- 
at-the-heel  sailor  from  the  Port? 

"  I  want  money — I  want  to  borrow,"  said  Amber 
promptly. 

"  On  your  word,  sahib?  " 

"  On  security." 

"  What  manner  of  security  can  you  offer?  " 

"  A  ring — an  emerald  ring." 


158  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Dhola  Baksh  shrugged.  His  eyes  shifted  from  Amber 
to  the  encircling  faces  of  the  bystanders.  "  I  am  a 
poor  man,"  he  whined.  "  How  should  I  have  money  to 
lend?  Come  to  me  on  the  morrow;  then  mayhap  I  may 
have  a  few  rupees.  To-night  I  have  neither  cash  nor 
time." 

The  hint  was  lost  upon  Amber.  "  A  stone  of 
price "  he  persisted. 

With  a  disturbed  and  apprehensive  look,  the  money- 
lender rose.  "  Come,  then,"  he  grumbled,  "  if  you 
must " 

A  voice  cried  out  behind  Amber — "  Heh!  " more 

a  squeal  than  a  cry.  Intuitively,  as  at  a  signal  of 
danger,  he  leaped  aside.  Simultaneously  something  like 
a  beam  of  light  sped  past  his  head.  The  goldsmith 
uttered  one  dreadful,  choking  scream,  and  went  to  his 
knees.  For  as  many  as  three  seconds  he  swayed  back 
and  forth,  his  features  terribly  contorted,  his  thin  old 
hands  plucking  feebly  at  the  handle  of  a  broadbladed 
dagger  which  had  transfixed  his  throat.  Then  he 
tumbled  forward  on  his  face,  kicking. 

There  followed  a  single  instant  of  suspense  and  hor- 
ror, then  a  mad  rush  of  feet  as  the  street  stampeded 
into  the  shop.  Voices  clamoured  to  the  skies.  Some- 
how the  lights  went  out. 

Amber  started  to  fight  his  way  out.  As  he  struggled 
on,  making  little  headway  through  the  press,  a  hand 
grasped  his  arm  and  drew  him  another  way. 

"  Make  haste,  hazoor !  "  cried  the  owner  of  the  hand, 
in  Hindustani.  "  Make  haste,  lest  they  seek  to  fasten 
this  crime  upon  your  head." 


CHAPTER  X 

MAHARANA    OP    KHANDAWAR 

BOTH  hand  and  voice  might  well  have  been  Laber- 
touche's ;  Amber  believed  they  were.  And  the  darkness 
rendered  visual  identification  impossible.  No  shadow 
of  doubt  troubled  him  as  he  yielded  to  the  urgent  hand, 
and  permitted  himself  to  be  dragged,  more  than  led, 
through  the  reeking,  milling  mob,  whose  numbers  seemed 
each  instant  augmented.  He  had  thought,  dully,  to  find 
it  a  difficult  matter  to  worm  through  and  escape,  but 
somehow  his  guide  seemed  to  have  little  trouble.  Others, 
likewise,  evidently  wished  to  get  out  of  sight  before  the 
arrival  of  the  police,  and  in  the  wake  of  a  little  knot  of 
these  Amber  felt  himself  drawn  along  until,  within  less 
than  two  minutes,  they  were  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd. 

He  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  Ever  since  that 
knife  had  flown  whining  past  his  cheek,  his  instinct 
of  self-preservation  had  been  dominated  by  a  serene 
confidence  that  Pink  Satin  was  at  hand  to  steer  him 
in  safety  away  from  the  brawl.  For  his  own  part  he 
was  troubled  by  a  feeling  of  helplessness  and  depend- 
ence unusual  with  him,  who  was  of  a  self-reliant  habit, 
accustomed  to  shift  for  himself  whatever  the  emergency. 
But  this  was  something  vastly  different  from  the  run  of 
experiences  that  had  theretofore  fallen  to  his  lot.  In 
the  foulest  stews  of  a  vast  city,  with  no  least  notion 

159 


160  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

of  how  to  win  his  way  back  to  the  security  of  the  Chow- 
ringhee  quarter ;  in  the  heart  of  a  howling  native  rabble 
stimulated  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy  by  the  only  things  that 
ever  seem  really  to  rouse  the  Oriental  from  his  apathy 
— the  scent  and  sight  of  human  blood ;  and  with  a  sense 
of  terror  chilling  him  as  he  realised  the  truth  at  which 
his  guide  had  hinted — that  the  actual  assassin  would 
not  hesitate  an  instant  to  cry  the  murder  upon  the  head 
of  one  of  the  Sahib-logue :  Amber  felt  as  little  confidence 
in  his  ability  to  work  out  his  salvation  as  though  he  had 
been  a  child.  He  thanked  his  stars  for  Labertouche — 
for  the  hand  that  clasped  his  arm  and  the  voice  that 
spoke  guardedly  in  his  ear. 

And  then,  by  the  light  of  the  street,  he  discovered  that 
his  gratitude  had  been  premature  and  misplaced.  His 
guide  had  fallen  a  pace  behind  and  was  shouldering  him 
along  with  almost  frantic  energy;  but  a  glance  aside 
showed  Amber,  in  Labertouche's  stead,  a  chunky  little 
Gurkha  in  the  fatigue  uniform  of  his  regiment  of  the 
British  Army  in  India.  Pink  Satin  was  nowhere  in  sight 
and  it  was  immediately  apparent  that  an  attempt  to  find 
him  among  the  teeming  hundreds  before  the  goldsmith's 
stall  would  be  as  futile  as  foolish — if  not  fatal.  Yet 
Amber's  impulse  was  to  wait,  and  he  faltered — some- 
thing which  seemed  to  exasperate  the  Gurkha,  who  fairly 
danced  with  excitement  and  impatience. 

"  Hasten,  hazoor ! "  he  cried.  "  Is  this  a  time  to 
loiter?  Hasten  ere  they  charge  you  with  this  spill- 
ing of  blood.  The  gods  lend  wings  to  our  feet  this 
night !  " 

"  But  who  are  you  ?  "  demanded  Amber. 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          161 

"  What  matter  is  that  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  am 
here  and  well  disposed  toward  you,  that  I  risk  my  skin 
to  save  yours  ?  "  He  cannoned  suddenly  against  Amber, 
shunting  him  unceremoniously  out  of  the  bazaar  road 
and  into  a  narrow  black  alley. 

Simultaneously  Amber  heard  a  cry  go  up,  shrill  above 
the  clamour  of  the  mob,  screaming  that  a  white  sailor 
had  knifed  the  goldsmith.  And  he  turned  pale  beneath 
his  tan. 

"You  hear,  hazoor?  They  are  naming  you  to  the 
police-wallahs.  Come ! " 

"  You're  right."  Amber  fell  into  a  long,  free  stride 
that  threatened  quickly  to  distance  the  Gurka's  short, 
sturdy  legs.  "  Yet  why  do  you  take  this  trouble  for 
me?  " 

"  Why  ask?  "  panted  the  Gurkha.  "  Did  I  not  stand 
behind  you  and  see  that  you  did  not  throw  the  knife? 
Am  I  a  dog  to  stand  by  and  see  an  innocent  man  yoked 
to  a  crime  ?  "  He  laughed  shortly.  "  Am  I  a  fool  to 
forget  how  great  is  the  generosity  of  Kings?  This 
way,  hazoor ! " 

"  Why  call  me  King  ?  "  Amber  hurdled  a  heap  of 
offal  and  picked  up  his  pace  again.  "  Yet  you  will  find 
me  generous,  though  but  a  sahib." 

"  The  sahibs  are  very  generous."  Again  the  Gurkha 
laughed  briefly  and  unpleasantly.  "  But  this  is  no  time 
for  words.  Save  your  breath,  for  now  we  must  run." 

He  broke  into  a  springy  lope,  with  his  chin  up,  elbows 
in  and  chest  distended,  his  quick  small  feet  slopping 
regardlessly  through  the  viscous  mud  of  the  unpaved 
byway.  "  Hear  that.!  "  he  cried,  as  a  series  of  short, 


162  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

sharp  yells  rose  in  the  bazaar  behind  them.  "  The  dogs 
have  found  the  scent !  "  And  for  a  time  terror  winged 
their  flight.  Eastern  mobs  are  hard  to  handle ;  if  over- 
taken the  chances  were  anything-you-please  to  one  that 
the  fugitives  would  be  torn  to  pieces  as  by  wild  animals 
ere  the  police  could  interfere. 

They  struck  through  stranger  and  more  awful  quar- 
ters than  Amber  had  believed  could  be  tolerated,  even 
in  India.  For  if  there  were  a  better  way  of  escape  they 
had  no  time  to  pause  and  choose  it.  From  the  racket  in 
their  rear  the  pursuit  was  hot  upon  their  trail,  and  with 
every  stride,  well-nigh,  they  were  passing  those  who 
would  mark  them  down  and,  when  the  rabble  came  up, 
cry  it  on  with  explicit  directions. 

And  so  Amber  found  himself  pounding  along  at  the 
heels  of  his  Gurkha,  threading  acres  of  flimsy  huts  hud- 
dled together  in  meaningless  confusion — frail  boxes  of 
bamboo,  mud,  and  wattles  thrown  roughly  together  upon 
corrupt,  naked  earth  that  reeked  of  the  drainage  of 
uncounted  generations.  Whence  they  passed  through 
long,  brilliant,  silent  streets  lined  with  open  hovels 
wherein  Vice  and  Crime  bred  cheek-by-jowl,  the  haunts 
of  Shame,  painted  and  unabashed,  sickening  in  the  very 
crudity  of  its  nakedness.  .  .  .  There  is  no  bottom  to 
the  Pit  wherein  the  native  sinks.  .  .  .  And  on,  pant- 
ing, with  labouring  chests  and  aching  limbs,  into  the 
abandoned  desolation  of  the  Chinese  quarter,  and  back 
through  the  still,  deadly  ways  which  Amber  had 
threaded  in  the  footsteps  of  Pink  Satin — where  the 
houses  towered  high  and  were  ornamented  with  dingy, 
crumbling  stucco  and  rusty,  empty,  treacherous  bal- 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          163 

conies  of  iron,  and  the  air  hung  in  stagnation  as  if  the 
very  winds  here  halted  to  eavesdrop  upon  the  iniquities 
that  were  housed  behind  the  jealous,  rotting  blinds  of 
wood  and  iron. 

By  now  the  voice  of  the  chase  had  subsided  to  a  dull 
and  distant  muttering  far  behind  them,  and  the  way 
was  clear.  Beyond  its  age-old,  ineradicable  atmosphere 
of  secret  infamy  there  was  nothing  threatening  in  the 
aspect  of  the  neighbourhood.  And  the  Gurkha  pulled 
up,  breathing  like  a  wind-broken  horse. 

"  Easily,  hazoor !  "  he  gasped.  "  There  is  time  for 
rest." 

Willingly  Amber  dropped  into  a  wavering  stride,  so 
nearly  exhausted  that  his  legs  shook  under  him  and 
he  reeled  drunkenly;  and,  fighting  for  breath,  they 
stumbled  on,  side  by  side,  in  the  shadow  of  the  over- 
hanging walls,  until  as  they  neared  a  corner  the  Gurkha 
stopped  and  halted  Amber  with  an  imperative  gesture. 

"  The  police,  sahib,  the  police ! "  he  breathed,  with 
an  expressive  sweep  of  his  hand  toward  the  cross  street. 
"  Let  us  wait  here  till  they  pass."  And  in  evident  panic 
he  crowded  Amber  into  the  deep  and  gloomy  recess  af- 
forded by  a  door  overhung  by  a  balcony. 

Taken  off  his  guard,  but  with  growing  doubt,  Amber 
was  on  the  point  of  remonstrating.  Why  should  the 
police  concern  themselves  with  peaceful  wayfarers? 
They  could  not  yet  have  heard  of  the  crime  in  the 
Bazaar,  miles  distant.  But  as  he  opened  his  lips  he 
heard  the  latch  click  behind  him,  and  before  he  could 
lift  a  finger,  the  Gurkha  had  flung  himself  bodily  upon 
him,  fairly  lifting  the  American  across  the  threshold. 


164  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

They  went  down  together,  the  Gurkha  on  top.  And 
the  door  crashed  to  with  a  rattle  of  bolts,  leaving  Amber 
on  his  back,  in  total  darkness,  betrayed,  lost,  and  alone 
with  his  enemies.  .  .  . 

Now  take  a  man — a  white  man — an  American  by 
preference — such  an  one  as  David  Amber — who  has  led 
an  active  if  thoughtful  life  and  lived  much  out  of  doors, 
roughing  it  cheerfully  in  out-of-the-way  corners  of  the 
world,  and  who  has  been  careful  to  maintain  his  physical 
condition  at  something  above  par;  bedevil  him  with  a 
series  of  mysterious  circumstances  for  a  couple  of 
months,  send  him  on  a  long  journey,  entangle  him  in  a 
passably  hopeless  love  affair,  work  his  expectations  up 
to  a  high  pitch  of  impatience,  exasperate  him  with  dis- 
appointment, and  finally  cause  him  to  be  tripped  up  by 
treachery  and  thrust  into  a  pitch-black  room  in  an  un- 
known house  in  one  of  the  vilest  quarters  of  Calcutta : 
treat  him  in  such  a  manner  and  what  may  you  expect  of 
him?  Not  discretion,  at  least. 

Amber  went  temporarily  mad  with  rage.  He  was  no 
stranger  to  fear — no  man  with  an  imagination  is;  but 
for  the  time  being  he  was  utterly  foolhardy.  He 
forgot  his  exhaustion,  forgot  the  hopelessness  of 
his  plight,  forgot  everything  save  his  insatiable  thirst 
for  vengeance.  He  was,  in  our  homely  idiom,  fighting- 
mad. 

One  instant  overpowered  by  and  supine  beneath  the 
Gurkha,  the  next  he  had  flung  the  man  off  and  bounded 
to  his  feet.  There  was  the  automatic  pistol  in  his  coat- 
pocket,  but  he,  conscious  that  many  hands  were  reach- 
ing out  in  the  darkness  to  drag  him  down  again,  found 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          165 

no  time  to  draw  it.  He  seemed  to  feel  the  presence  of 
the  nearest  antagonist,  whom  he  could  by  no  means  see ; 
for  he  struck  out  with  both  bare,  clenched  fists,  one  after 
the  other,  with  his  weight  behind  each,  and  both  blows 
landed.  The  sounds  of  their  impact  rang  like  pistol- 
shots,  and  beneath  his  knuckles  he  felt  naked  flesh  crack 
and  give.  Something  fell  away  from  him  with  a  grunt 
like  a  poled  ox.  And  then,  in  an  instant,  before  he 
could  recover  his  poise,  even  before  he  knew  that  the 
turned-in  stone  of  the  emerald  ring  had  bitten  deep  into 
his  palm,  he  was  the  axis  of  a  vortex  of  humanity.  And 
he  fought  like  a  devil  unchained.  Those  who  had  thrown 
themselves  upon  him,  clutching  desperately  at  his  arms 
and  legs  and  hanging  upon  his  body,  seemed  to  be 
thrown  off  like  chips  from  a  lathe — for  a  time.  In  two 
short  minutes  he  performed  prodigies  of  valour;  his 
arms  wrought  like  piston-rods,  his  fists  flew  like  flails ; 
and  such  was  the  press  round  him  that  he  struck  no 
blow  that  failed  to  find  a  mark.  The  room  rang  with 
the  sounds  of  the  struggle,  the  shuffle,  thud,  and  scrape 
of  feet  both  booted  and  bare,  the  hoarse,  harsh  breath- 
ing of  the  combatants,  their  groans,  their  whispers, 
their  low  tense  cries  .  .  . 

And  abruptly  it  was  over.  He  was  borne  down 
by  sheer  weight  of  numbers.  Though  he  fought  with 
the  insanity  of  despair  they  were  too  many  for  him. 
He  went  a  second  time  to  the  floor,  beneath  a  dozen  half- 
nude  bodies.  Below  him  lay  another,  with  an  arm  en- 
circling his  throat,  the  elbow  beneath  his  chin  com- 
pressing his  windpipe.  Powerless  to  move  hand  or  foot, 
he  gave  up  .  .  .  and  wondered  dully  why  it  was  that 


166  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

a  knife  had  not  yet  slipped  between  his  ribs — between 
the  fifth  and  sixth — or  in  his  back,  beneath  the  left 
shoulder-blade,  and  why  his  gullet  remained  unslit. 

Gradually  it  was  forced  upon  him  that  his  captors 
meant  him  no  bodily  harm,  for  the  present  at  least. 
His  wrath  subsided  and  gave  place  to  curiosity  while 
he  rested,  regaining  his  wind,  and  the  natives  squirmed 
away  from  him,  leaving  one  man  kneeling  upon  his 
chest  and  four  others  each  pinioning  a  limb. 

There  followed  a  wait,  while  some  several  persons  in- 
dulged in  a  whispered  confabulation  at  a  distance  from 
him  too  great  for  their  words  to  be  articulate.  Then 
came  a  croaking  laugh  out  of  the  darkness  and  words 
intended  for  his  ear. 

"  By  Malang  Shah !  but  my  lord  doth  fight  like  a 
Rajput!" 

Amber  caught  his  breath  and  exploded.  "  Half  a 
chance,  you  damned  thugs,  and  I'd  show  you  how  an 
American  can  fight !  " 

But  he  had  spoken  in  English,  and  his  hearers  gath- 
ered the  import  of  his  words  only  from  his  tone,  ap- 
parently. He  who  had  addressed  him  laughed  applaus- 
ively. 

"  It  was  a  gallant  fight,"  he  commented,  "  but  like  all 
good  things  hath  had  its  end.  My  lord  is  overcome. 
Is  my  lord  still  minded  for  battle  or  for  peace  ?  Dare  I, 
his  servant,  give  orders  for  his  release,  or — 

Here  Amber  interrupted;  stung  by  the  bitter  irony, 
he  told  the  speaker  in  fluent  idiomatic  Hindustani  pre- 
cisely what  he  might  expect  if  his  "  lord  "  ever  got  the 
shadow  of  a  chance  to  lay  hands  upon  him. 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          167 

The  grim  cackling  laugh  followed  his  words,  a  mock- 
ing echo,  and  was  his  only  answer.  But  for  all  his  defi- 
ance, he  presently  heard  orders  issued  to  take  him  up 
and  bear  him  to  another  chamber.  Promptly  the  man 
on  his  chest  moved  away,  and  his  fellows  lifted  and  car- 
ried Amber,  gently  and  with  puzzling  consideration, 
some  considerable  distance  through  what  he  surmised  to 
be  an  underground  corridor.  He  suffered  this  pas- 
sively, realising  his  impotence,  and  somewhat  comforted 
if  perplexed  by  the  tenderness  accorded  him  in  return 
for  his  savage  fight  for  freedom. 

Unexpectedly  he  was  let  down  upon  the  floor  and 
released.  Bare  feet  scurried  away  in  the  darkness  and 
a  door  closed  with  a  resounding  bang.  He  was  alone, 
for  all  he  could  say  to  the  contrary — alone  and  un- 
harmed. He  was  more:  he  was  astonished;  he  had  not 
been  disarmed.  He  got  up  and  felt  of  himself,  mar- 
velling that  his  pocket  still  sagged  with  the  weight 
of  the  pistol  as  much  as  at  the  circumstance  that, 
aside  from  the  inevitable  damage  to  his  clothing — 
a  coat-sleeve  ripped  from  the  arm-hole,  several  buttons 
missing,  suspenders  broken — he  had  come  out  of  the 
melee  unhurt,  not  even  bruised,  save  for  the  hand  that 
had  been  cut  by  the  emerald.  He  wrapped  a  handker- 
chief about  this  wound,  and  took  the  pistol  out,  deriving 
a  great  deal  of  comfort  from  the  way  it  balanced,  its 
roughened  grip  nestling  snugly  in  his  palm. 

He  fairly  itched  to  use  the  thing,  but  lacking  an 
excuse,  had  time  to  take  more  rational  counsel  of  him- 
self. It  were  certainly  unwise  to  presume  upon  the  pa- 
tience of  his  captors ;  though  he  had  battered  some  of 


168  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

t 

them  pretty  brutally  and  himself  escaped  reprisals,  the 
part  of  wisdom  would  seem  to  be  to  save  his  ammunition. 

With  this  running  through  his  mind,  the  room  was 
suddenly  revealed  to  his  eyes,  that  had  so  long  strained 
fruitlessly  to  see.  A  flood  of  lamplight  leaped  through 
some  opening  behind  him  and  showed  him  his  shadow, 
long  and  gigantic  upon  a  floor  of  earth  and  a  wall  of 
stone.  He  wheeled  about,  alert  as  a  cat ;  and  the  sight 
of  his  pistol  hung  steady  between  the  eyes  of  one  who 
stood  at  ease,  with  folded  arms,  in  an  open  doorway. 
Over  his  shoulder  was  visible  the  bare  brown  poll  of  an 
attendant  whose  lank  brown  arm  held  aloft  the  lamp. 

One  does  not  shoot  down  in  cold  blood  a  man  who 
makes  no  aggressive  move,  and  he  who  stood  in  the  door- 
way endured  impassively  the  mute  threat  of  the  pistol. 
Above  its  sight  his  eyes  met  Amber's  with  a  level  and 
unwavering  glance,  shining  out  of  a  dark,  set  face  cast 
in  a  mould  of  insolence  and  pride.  A  bushy  black  beard 
was  parted  at  his  chin  and  brushed  stiffly  back.  Be- 
tween his  thin  hard  lips,  parted  in  a  shadowy  smile,  his 
teeth  gleamed  white.  Standing  a  head  taller  than  Am- 
ber and  very  gracefully  erect  in  clothing  of  a  semi- 
military  cut  and  of  regal  magnificence,  every  inch  of  his 
pose  bespoke  power,  position,  and  the  habit  of  authority. 
His  head  was  bound  with  a  turban  of  spotless  white 
from  whose  clasp,  a  single  splendid  emerald,  a  jewelled 
aigret  nodded ;  the  bosom  of  his  dark-green  tunic  blazed 
with  orders  and  decorations;  at  his  side  swung  a  sabre 
with  richly  jewelled  hilt.  Heavy  white  gauntlets  hid 
his  hands,  top-boots  of  patent  leather  his  legs  and  feet. 

At  once  impressed  and  irritated  by  his  attitude,  Am- 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          169 

her  lowered  his  weapon.  "  Well  ?  "  he  demanded  queru- 
lously. "  What  do  you  want  ?  What's  your  part  in 
this  infamous  outrage?  " 

On  the  other's  face  the  faint  smile  became  more 
definite.  He  nodded  nonchalantly  at  Amber's  pistol. 
"  My  lord  intends  to  shoot  ?  "  he  enquired  in  English, 
his  tone  courteous  and  suave. 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  retorted  Amber  defiantly.  "  I'm 
going  to  have  satisfaction  for  this  outrage  if  I  die  get- 
ting it.  You  may  count  on  that,  first  and  last." 

The  man  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  his  shoulders  in 
deprecation ;  then  turned  to  his  attendant.  "  Put  down 
the  light  and  leave  us,"  he  said  curtly  in  Hindustani. 

Bowing  obsequiously,  the  servant  entered  and  de- 
parted, leaving  the  lamp  upon  a  wooden  shelf  braced 
against  one  side  of  the  four-square,  stone-walled  dun- 
geon. As  he  went  out  he  closed  the  door,  and  Amber 
noted  that  it  was  a  heavy  sheet  of  iron  or  steel,  very 
substantial.  His  face  darkened. 

"  I  presume  you  know  what  that  means,"  he  said, 
with  a  significant  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  door. 
"  It  '11  never  be  shut  on  me  alone.  We'll  leave  together, 
you  and  I,  if  we  both  go  out  feet  first."  He  lifted  the 
pistol  and  took  the  measure  of  the  man,  not  in  any  spirit 
of  bravado  but  with  absolute  sincerity.  "  I  trust  I 
make  my  meaning  plain  ?  " 

"  Most  clear,  hazoor."  The  other  showed  his  teeth  in 
an  appreciative  smile.  "  And  yet  " — with  an  expressive 
outward  movement  of  both  hands — "  what  is  the  need 
of  all  this?  " 

"  What !  "    Amber  choked  with  resentment.     "  What 


170  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

was  the  need  of  setting  your  thugs  upon  me — of  kid- 
napping me?  " 

*'  That,  my  lord,  was  an  error  of  judgment  on  the 
part  of  one  who  shall  pay  for  it  full  measure.  I  trust 
you  were  not  rudely  treated." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  in  blazes  you  call  it,"  snapped 
Amber.  "  I'm  dogged  by  your  spies — Heaven  knows 
why! — lured  to  this  place,  butted  bodily  into  the  arms 
of  a  gang  of  ruffians  to  be  manhandled,  and  finally 
locked  up  in  a  dark  cell.  I  don't  suppose  you've  got 
the  nerve  to  call  that  courteous  treatment." 

He  had  an  advantage,  and  knowing  it,  was  pushing 
it  to  the  limit;  for  all  his  nonchalance  the  black  man 
was  not  unconscious  of  the  pistol;  his  eye  never  forgot 
it.  And  Amber's  eyes  left  his  not  an  instant.  Despite 
that  the  fellow's  next  move  was  a  distinct  surprise. 

Suddenly  and  with  superb  grace,  he  stepped  forward 
and  dropped  to  one  knee  at  Amber's  feet,  bowing  his 
head  and  offering  the  hilt  of  his  sword  to  the  American. 

'*  My  lord,"  he  said  swiftly  in  Hindustani,  "  if  I  have 
misjudged  thee,  if  I  have  earned  thy  displeasure,  upon 
my  head  be  it.  See,  I  give  my  life  into  thy  hands ;  but 
a  little  quiver  of  thy  forefinger  and  I  am  as  dust. 
.  .  .  An  ill  report  of  thee  was  brought  to  me,  and  I 
did  err  in  crediting  it.  It  is  true  that  I  set  this  trap 
for  thee ;  but  see,  my  lord !  though  I  did  so,  it  was  with 
no  evil  intent.  I  thought  but  to  make  sure  of  thee  and 
bid  thee  welcome,  as  a  faithful  steward  should,  to  thy 
motherland.  .  .  .  Maha  Rao  Rana,  Har  Dyal  Rutton 
Bahadur,  Heaven-born,  King  of  Kings,  Chosen  of  the 
Voice,  Cherished  of  the  Eye,  Beloved  of  the  Heart, 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          171 

bone  of  the  bone  and  flesh  of  the  flesh  of  the  Body, 
Guardian  of  the  Gateway  of  Swords!  ...  I,  thy 
servant,  Salig  Singh,  bid  thee  welcome  to  Bharuta ! " 

Sonorous  and  not  unpleasing,  his  voice  trembled  with 
intense  and  unquestionable  earnestness;  and  when  it 
ceased  he  remained  motionless  in  his  attitude  of  humil- 
ity. Amber,  hardly  able  to  credit  his  hearing,  stared 
down  at  the  man  stupidly,  his  head  awhirl  with  curi- 
ously commingled  sensations  of  amazement  and  en- 
lightenment. Presently  he  laughed  shortly. 

"  Get  up,"  he  said ;  "  get  up  and  stand  over  there 
by  the  wall  and  don't  be  a  silly  ass." 

**  Hazoor ! "  There  was  reproach  in  Salig  Singh's 
accents;  but  he  obeyed,  rising  and  retreating  to  the 
further  wall,  there  to  hold  himself  at  attention. 

"  Now  see  here,"  began  Amber,  designedly  continu- 
ing his  half  of  the  conversation  in  English — far  too 
much  misunderstanding  had  already  been  brought 
about  by  his  too-ready  familiarity  with  Urdu.  He 
paused  a  little  to  collect  his  thoughts,  then  resumed: 
"  Now  see  here,  you're  Salig  Singh,  Maharana  of 
Khandawar  ?  "  This  much  he  recalled  from  his  con- 
versation with  Labertouche  a  couple  of  hours  gone. 

"  Hazoor,  why  dost  thou  need  ask  ?  Thou  dost  know." 
The  Rajput,  on  his  part,  steadfastly  refused  to  return 
to  English. 

"  But  you   are,   aren't   you  ?  " 

"  By  thy  favour,  it  is  even  so." 

"  And  you  think  I'm  Rutton — Har  Dyal  Rutton,  as 
you  call  him,  the  former  Maharana  who  abdicated  in 
your  favour?  " 


172  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

The  Rajput  shrugged  expressively,  an  angry  light  in 
his  dark,  bold  eyes.  "It  pleases  my  lord  to  jest,"  he 
complained;  "but  am  I  a  child,  to  be  played  with?  " 

"  I'm  not  joking,  Salig  Singh,  and  this  business  is 
no  joke  at  all.  What  I'm  trying  to  drive  into  your 
head  is  the  fact  that  you've  made  the  mistake  of  your 
life.  I'm  not  Rutton  and  I'm  nothing  like  Rutton;  I 
am  an  American  citizen  and " 

"  Pardon,  hazoor,  but  is  this  worth  thy  while?  I 
am  no  child;  what  I  know  I  know.  If  thou  art  indeed 
not  Har  Dyal  Rutton,  how  is  it  that  thou  dost  wear 
upon  thy  finger  the  signet  of  thy  house  " — Salig  Singh 
indicated  the  emerald  which  Amber  had  forgotten — 
"  the  Token  sent  thee  by  the  Bell?  If  thou  are  not  my 
lord  the  rightful  Maharana  of  Khandawar,  how  is  it 
that  thou  hast  answered  the  summons  of  the  Bell? 
Are  the  servants  of  the  Body  fools  who  have  followed 
the  hither,  losing  trace  of  thee  no  single  instant  since 
thou  didst  slay  the  Bengali  who  bore  the  Token  to  thee? 
Am  I  blind — I,  Salig  Singh,  thy  childhood's  playmate, 
the  Grand  Vizier  of  thy  too-brief  rule,  to  whom  thou 
didst  surrender  the  reins  of  government  of  Khandawar? 
I  know  thee ;  thou  canst  not  deceive  me.  True  it  is  that 
thou  art  changed — sadly  changed,  my  lord;  and  the 
years  have  not  worn  upon  thee  as  they  might — I  had 
thought  to  find  thee  an  older  man  and,  by  thy  grace,  a 
wiser.  But  even  as  I  am  Salig  Singh,  thou  art  none 
other  than  my  lord,  Har  Dyal  Rutton." 

Salig  Singh  put  his  shoulders  against  the  wall  and, 
leaning  so  with  arms  folded,  regarded  Amber  with  a 
triumph  not  unmixed  with  contempt.  It  was  plain  that 


173 

he  considered  his  argument  final,  his  case  complete,  the 
verdict  his.  While  Amber  found  no  words  with  which 
to  combat  his  false  impression,  and  could  only  stare, 
open-mouthed  and  fascinated.  But  at  length  he  recol- 
lected himself  and  called  his  wits  together. 

"  That's  all  very  pretty,"  he  admitted  fairly,  "  but 
it  won't  hold  water.  I  don't  suppose  these  faithful 
servants  of  the  Bell  you  mentioned  happened  to  tell 
you  that  Chatter ji  himself  mistook  me  for  Rutton,  to 
begin  with,  and  just  found  out  his  mistake  in  time  to 
recover  the  Token.  Did  they?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head  wearily.  "  Nothing  to  that 
import  hath  come  to  mine  ears,"  he  said. 

"  All  right.  And  of  course  they  didn't  tell  you  that 
Rutton  committed  suicide  down  there  on  Long  Island, 
just  after  he  had  killed  the  babu?  " 

Again  Salig  Singh  replied  by  a  negative  movement  of 
his  head. 

"  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  your  infernal 
*  Body  '  employs  a  giddy  lot  of  incompetents  to  run  its 
errands." 

Salig  Singh  said  nothing,  and  Amber  pondered  the 
situation  briefly.  He  understood  now  how  the  babu's 
companion  had  fallen  into  error:  how  Chatter  ji,  possess- 
ing sufficient  intelligence  to  recognise  his  initial  mis- 
take, had,  having  rectified  it,  saved  his  face  by  saying 
nothing  to  his  companion  of  the  incident;  and  how 
the  latter  had  remained  in  ignorance  of  Rutton's  death 
after  the  slaying  of  Chatter  ji,  and  had  pardonably 
mistaken  Amber  for  the  man  he  had  been  sent  to  spy 
upon.  The  prologue  was  plain  enough,  but  how  to  deal 


174  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

with  this  its  sequel  was  a  problem  that  taxed  his  in- 
genuity. A  single  solution  seemed  practicable,  of  the 
many  he  debated :  to  get  in  touch  with  Labertouche  and 
leave  the  rest  to  him. 

He  stood  for  so  long  in  meditation  that  the  Rajput 
began  to  show  traces  of  impatience.  He  moved  rest- 
lessly, yawned,  and  at  length  spoke. 

"  Is  not  my  lord  content?  Can  he  not  see,  the  dice 
are  cast?  What  profit  can  he  think  to  win  through 
furtherance  of  this  farce?" 

"  Well,"  curiosity  prompted  Amber  to  ask,  "  what 
do  you  want  of  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Is  there  need  to  ask?  Through  the  Mouthpiece,  the 
Bengali,  Behari  Lai  Chatter ji,  whom  thou  didst  slay, 
the  message  of  the  Bell  was  brought  to  thee.  Thou 
hast  been  called;  it  is  for  thee  to  answer." 

"Called ?" 

"  To  the  Gateway  of  Swords,  hazoor." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  to  be  sure.  But  where  in  thunderation  is 
it?  " 

"  That  my  lord  doth  know." 

"  You  think  so?  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  But 
suppose  I  decline  the  invitation?  " 

Salig  Singh  looked  bored.  "  Since  thou  hast  come  so 
far,"  he  said,  "  thou  wilt  go  farther,  hazoor." 

"  Meaning — by  force?  " 

"  Of  thine  own  will.  Those  whom  the  Voice  calleth 
are  not  led  to  the  Gateway  by  their  noses." 

"  But,"  Amber  persisted,  "  suppose  they  won't  go  ?  " 

"  Then,  hazoor,  doth  the  Council  of  the  Hand  sit  in 
judgment  upon  them." 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          175 

The  significance  was  savagely  obvious,  but  Amber 
merely  laughed.  "  And  the  Hand  strikes,  I  presume?  " 
Salig  Singh  nodded.  "  Bless  your  heart,  I'm  not  afraid 
of  your  '  Hand ' !  But  am  I  to  understand  that  com- 
pulsion is  not  to  be  used  in  order  to  get  me  to  the  Gate- 
way— wherever  that  is?  I  mean,  I'm  free  to  exercise 
my  judgment,  whether  or  not  I  shall  go — free  to  leave 
this  place  and  return  to  my  hotel?  " 

Gravely  the  Rajput  inclined  his  head.  "  Even  so," 
he  assented.  "  I  caused  thee  to  be  brought  hither  solely 
to  make  certain  what  thou  hast  out  of  thine  own  mouth 
confirmed — the  report  that  thou  hadst  become  alto- 
gether traitor  to  the  Bell.  So  be  it.  There  remains 
but  the  warning  that  for  four  days  more,  and  four  days 
only,  the  Gateway  remains  open  to  those  summoned. 
On  the  fifth  it  closes." 

"  And  to  those  who  remain  in  the  outer  darkness  on 
that  fifth  day,  Salig  Singh ?  " 

"  God  is  merciful,"  said  the  Rajput  piously. 

"  Very  well.  If  that  is  all,  I  think  I  will  now  leave 
you,  Salig  Singh,"  said  Amber,  fondling  his  pistol 
meaningly. 

"  One  word  more,"  Salig  Singh  interposed,  very  much 
alive  to  Amber's  attitude :  "  I  were  unfaithful  to  the 
trust  thou  didst  once  repose  in  me  were  I  not  to  warn 
thee  that  whither  thou  goest,  the  Mind  will  know; 
what  thou  dost,  the  Eye  will  see;  the  words  thou 
shalt  utter,  the  Ear  will  hear.  To  all  things  there  is 
an  end,  also — even  to  the  patience  of  the  Body. 
Shabash!" 

"  Thank  you  'most  to  death,  Salig  Singh.     Now  will 


176  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

you  be  good  enough  to  order  a  ghari  to  take  me  back 
to  the  Great  Eastern?  " 

"  My  lord's  will  is  his  servant's."  Salig  Singh 
started  for  the  door  the  least  trace  too  eagerly. 

"  One  moment,"  said  Amber  sharply.  "  Not  so  fast, 
my  friend,"  He  tapped  his  palm  with  the  barrel  of 
the  pistol  to  add  weight  to  his  peremptory  manner. 
"  I  think  if  you  will  lift  your  voice  and  call,  some  one 
will  answer.  I've  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  if  you 
don't  know  it,  and  I  don't  purpose  letting  you  out  of 
my  sight  until  I'm  safely  out  of  this  house." 

With  a  sullen  air  the  Rajput  yielded.  From  his  ex- 
pression Amber  would  have  wagered  much  that  there 
was  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  in  store  for  those  who  had 
neglected  to  disarm  him  when  the  opportunity  was 
theirs. 

"  As  you  will,"  conceded  Salig  Singh ;  and  he  clapped 
his  hands  smartly,  crying :  "  Ohe,  Moto ! 

Almost  instantly  the  iron  door  swung  open  and  the 
lamp-bearer  appeared,  salaaming. 

"  Tell  him,"  ordered  Amber,  "  to  bring  me  a  cloak 
of  some  sort — not  too  conspicuous.  I've  no  fancy  to 
kick  up  a  scandal  at  the  hotel  by  returning  with  these 
duds  visible.  You  can  charge  it  up  to  profit  and  loss; 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  tender  treatment  your  assas- 
sins gave  me,  I'd  be  less  disreputable." 

A  faint  smile  flickered  in  Salig  Singh's  eyes — a  look 
that  was  not  wholly  devoid  of  admiration  for  the  man 
who  had  turned  the  tables  on  him  with  such  ease.  **  In- 
deed," he  said,  "  I  were  lacking  in  courtesy  did  I  refuse 
thee  that."  And  turning  to  the  servant  he  issued  in- 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          177 

structions  in  accordance  with  Amber's  demands,  adding 
gratuitously  an  order  that  the  way  of  exit  should  be 
kept  clear. 

As  the  man  bowed  and  withdrew  Amber  grinned 
cheerfully.  "  It  wasn't  a  bad  afterthought,  Salig 
Singh,"  he  observed ;  "  precautions  like  that  relieve  the 
mind  wonderfully  sometimes." 

But  the  humour  of  the  situation  seemed  to  be  lost 
upon  the  Rajput. 

In  the  brief  wait  that  followed  Amber  shifted  his 
position  to  one  wherefrom  he  could  command  both  the 
doorway  and  Salig  Singh;  his  solicitude,  however,  was 
without  apparent  warrant ;  nothing  happened  to  justify 
him  of  his  vigilance.  Without  undue  delay  the  servant 
returned  with  a  light  cloak  and  the  announcement  that 
the  ghari  was  in  waiting. 

His  offer  to  help  the  American  don  the  garment 
was  graciously  declined.  "  I've  a  fancy  to  have  my 
arms  free  for  the  present,"  Amber  explained ;  "  I  can 
get  it  on  by  myself  in  the  ghari."  He  took  the  cloak 
over  his  left  arm.  "  I'm  ready ;  lead  on ! "  he  said, 
and  with  a  graceful  wave  of  the  pistol  bowed  Salig 
Singh  out  of  the  cellar. 

Moto  leading  with  the  light,  they  proceeded  in  silence 
down  a  musty  but  deserted  passage,  Amber  bringing 
up  the  rear  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth  and  his  finger 
nervous  upon  the  trigger.  After  a  little  the  passage 
turned  and  discovered  a  door  open  to  the  street.  Be- 
yond this  a  ghari  could  be  seen. 

Amber  civilly  insisted  that  both  the  servant  and  his 
master  leave  the  house  before  him,  but,  once  outside,  he 


178  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

made  a  wary  detour  and  got  between  them  and  the 
waiting  conveyance.  Then,  "  It's  kind  of  you,  Salig 
Singh,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  properly  grateful.  I'll  say  this 
for  you:  you  play  the  game  fairly  when  anybody  calls 
your  attention  to  the  rules.  Good-night  to  you — and, 
I  say,  be  kind  enough  to  shut  the  door  as  you  go  in. 
I'll  just  wait  until  you  do." 

The  Rajput  found  no  answer;  conceivably,  his 
chagrin  was  intense.  With  a  curt  nod  he  turned  and  re- 
entered  the  house,  Moto  following.  The  door  closed  and 
Amber  jumped  briskly  into  the  ghari. 

"  Home,  James,"  he  told  the  ghariwallah,  in  great 
conceit  with  himself.  "  I  mean,  the  Great  Eastern 
Hotel — and  juldee  jao!  " 

The  driver  wrapped  a  whiplash  round  the  corrugated 
flanks  of  his  horse  and  the  ghari  turned  the  corner 
with  gratifying  speed.  In  half  a  minute  they  were  in 
the  Chitpur  Road.  In  fifteen  they  drew  up  before  the 
hotel. 

It  was  after  midnight  and  the  city  had  begun  to  quiet 
down,  but  Old  Court  House  Street  was  still  populous 
with  carriages  and  pedestrians,  black  and  tan  and 
white.  There  was  a  Viceregal  function  of  some  sort 
towards  in  the  Government  House,  and  broughams  and 
victorias,  coaches,  hansoms,  and  coupes,  with  lamps 
alight  and  liveried  coachmen — turn-outs  groomed  to  the 
last  degree  of  smartness — crowded  the  thoroughfare  to 
the  peril  and  discomfort  of  the  casual  ghari.  The 
scene  was  unbelievably  brilliant.  Amber  felt  like  rub- 
bing his  eyes.  Here  were  sidewalks,  pavements,  throb- 
bing electric  arcs,  Englishmen  in  evening  dress,  fair 


MAHARANA  OF  KHANDAWAR          179 

Englishwomen  in  dainty  gowns  and  pretty  wraps,  the 
hum  of  English  voices,  the  very  smell  of  civilisation. 
And  back  there,  just  across  the  border  he  had  so  re- 
cently crossed,  still  reigned  the  midnight  of  the  Orient, 
glamorous  with  the  glamour  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 
dreadful  with  its  dumb  menace,  its  atmosphere  of  plot 
and  counterplot,  mutiny,  treason,  intrigue,  and  death. 
Here,  a  little  island  of  life  and  light  and  gay,  heedless 
laughter;  there,  all  round  it,  pressing  close,  silence  and 
impenetrable  darkness,  like  some  dark  sea  of  death 
lapping  its  shores  .  .  . 

In  a  cold  sweat  of  horror  Amber  got  out  of  the  vehicle 
and  paid  his  fare.  As  he  turned  he  discovered  an  uni- 
formed policeman  stalking  to  and  fro  before  the  hotel, 
symbol  of  the  sane  power  that  ruled  the  land.  Amber 
was  torn  by  an  impulse  to  throw  himself  upon  the  man 
and  shriek  aloud  his  tale  of  terror — to  turn  and  scream 
warning  in  the  ears  of  those  who  lived  so  lightly  on  the 
lip  of  Hell.  .  .  . 

A  Bengali  drifted  listlessly  past,  a  bored  and  blase 
babu  in  a  suit  of  pink  satin,  wandering  home  and  in- 
terested in  nothing  save  his  own  bland  self  and  the  native 
cigarette  that  drooped  languidly  from  his  lips.  He 
passed  within  a  foot  of  Amber,  and  from  somewhere 
a  voice  spoke — the  Virginian  could  have  taken  an  oath 
that  the  babu's  lips  did  not  move — in  a  clear  yet  discreet 
whisper. 

To-morrow,"  it  said;  "  Darjeeling." 

Amber  hitched  his  cloak  round  him  and  entered  the 
hotel. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    TONGA 

"  BADSHAH  JUNCTION,  Mr.  Amber  .  .  .  Badshah 
Junction  .  .  .  We'll  be  there  in  'alf  an  hour  ..." 

Inexorably  the  voice  droned  on,  repeating  the  ad- 
monition over  and  over. 

Mutinous,  Amber  stirred  and  grumbled  in  his  sleep; 
stirred  and,  grumbling,  wakened  to  another  day.  Dog- 
gott  stood  over  him,  doggedly  insistent. 

"  Not  much  time  to  dress,  sir ;  we're  due  in  less  than 
'alf  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  all  right."  Drowsy,  stiff  and  sore  in  bone  and 
muscle,  Amber  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  leather-padded 
bunk  and  stared  out  of  the  window,  wondering.  With 
thundering  flanges  the  train  fled  from  east  to  west 
across  a  landscape  that  still  slept  wrapped  in  purple 
shadows.  Far  in  the  north  the  higher  peaks  of  a  long, 
low  range  of  treeless  hills  were  burning  with  a  pale, 
cold  light.  A  few  stars  glimmered  in  the  cloudless  vault 
— glimmered  wan,  doomed  to  sudden,  swift  extinction. 
Beside  the  railroad  a  procession  of  telegraph  poles 
marched  with  dipping  loops  of  wire  between.  There 
was  nothing  else  to  see.  None  the  less  the  young  man, 
now  fully  alive  to  the  business  of  the  day,  said  "  Thank 
God?"  in  all  sincerity. 

"  Even  a  tonga  will  be  a  relief  after  three  days  of 
180 


THE  TONGA  181 

this,  Doggott,"  he  observed,  surrendering  himself  to 
the  ministrations  of  the  servant. 

It  was  the  third  morning  succeeding  that  on  which 
he  had  risen  from  his  bed  in  the  Great  Eastern  Hotel 
in  Calcutta,  possessed  by  a  wild  anxiety  to  find  his  way 
with  the  least  possible  delay  to  Darjeeling  and  Sophia 
Farrell — a  journey  which  he  was  destined  never  to 
make.  For  while  he  breakfasted  a  telegram  had  been 
brought  to  him. 

"  Your  train  for  Benares,"  he  read,  "  leaves  Howrah 
at  nine-thirty.  Imperative"  It  was  signed:  "Pink 
Satin" 

He  acted  upon  it  without  thought  of  disobedience; 
he  was  in  the  hands  of  Labertouche,  and  Labertouche 
knew  best.  Between  the  lines  he  read  that  the  English- 
man considered  it  unwise  to  attempt  further  communi- 
cation in  Calcutta.  Something  had  happened  to  elimi- 
nate the  trip  to  Darjeeling.  Labertouche  would  un- 
doubtedly contrive  to  meet  and  enlighten  him,  either  on 
the  way  or  in  Benares  itself. 

In  the  long,  tiresome,  eventless  journey  that  followed 
his  faith  was  sorely  tried;  nor  was  it  justified  until  the 
train  paused  some  time  after  midnight  at  Mogul  Serai. 
There,  before  Amber  and  Doggott  could  alight  to 
change  for  Benares,  their  compartment  was  invaded 
by  an  unmistakable  loafer,  very  drunk.  Tall  and  burly ; 
with  red-rimmed  eyes  in  a  pasty  pockmarked  face,  dirty 
and  rusty  with  a  week-old  growth  of  beard;  clothed 
with  sublime  contempt  for  the  mode  and  exalted  beyond 
reason  with  liquor — a  typical  loafer  of  the  Indian  rail- 
ways— he  flung  the  door  open  and  himself  into  Amber's 


182  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

arms,  almost  knocking  the  latter  down ;  and  resented  the 
accident  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

"  You  miserable,  misbegotten  blighter  of  a  wall-eyed 

American "  At  this  point  he  became  unprintably 

profane,  and  Doggott  fell  upon  him  with  the  laudable 
intention  of  throwing  him  out.  In  the  struggle  Amber 
caught  his  eye,  and  it  was  bright  with  meaning. 
"  Pink  Satin !  "  he  hissed.  "  He's  gone  ahead.  .  .  . 
You're  to  keep  on  to  Agra.  .  .  .  Change  for  Bad- 
shah  Junction,  Rajputana  Route.  .  .  .  Then  tonga 
to  Kuttarpur.  .  .  .  Farrell's  there  and  his  daughter. 
.  .  .  That's  right,  my  man,  throw  me  out !  .  .  . " 

His  downfall  was  spectacular.  In  his  enthusiasm 
for  the  part  he  played,  he  had  erred  to  the  extent  of 
delivering  a  blow  in  Doggott's  face  more  forcible,  prob- 
ably, than  he  had  intended  it  to  be.  Promptly  he  landed 
sprawling  on  the  station  platform  and,  in  the  sight  of 
a  multitude  of  natives,  but  the  moment  gone  by  his 
shrieks  roused  from  their  sleep  in  orderly  ranks  upon 
the  floor,  was  gathered  into  the  arms  of  the  station- 
master  and  had  the  seriousness  of  his  mistake  pointed 
out  to  him  forthwith  and  without  regard  to  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  human  anatomy. 

And  the  train  continued  on  its  appointed  way,  bear- 
ing both  Amber  and  the  injured  Doggott. 

Thus  they  had  come  to  the  heart  of  Rajputana. 

In  the  chill  of  dawn  they  were  deposited  at  Badshah 
Junction.  A  scanty  length  of  rude  platform  received 
them  and  their  two  small  travelling  bags. 

On  their  left  the  Haiderabad  express  roared  away, 
following  the  night,  its  course  upon  the  parallel  ribbons 


THE  TONGA  183 

of  shining  steel  marked  by  a  towering  pillar  of  dust. 
On  their  right,  beyond  the  sharp-cut  edge  of  the 
world,  the  sun  had  kindled  a  mighty  conflagration  in 
the  skies.  On  every  hand,  behind  and  before  them,  the 
desert  lay  in  ebbing  shadows,  a  rolling  waste  seared  by 
arid  nullahs — the  bone-dry  beds  of  long-forgotten 
streams.  Off  in  the  north  the  hills  cropped  up  and 
stole  purposelessly  away  over  the  horizon. 

They  stood,  then,  forlorn  in  a  howling  desolation. 
For  signs  of  life  they  had  the  station,  a  flimsy  shelter 
roofed  with  corrugated  iron,  a  beaten  track  that  wan- 
dered off  northwards  and  disappeared  over  a  grassless 
swell,  a  handful  of  mud  huts  at  a  distance,  and  the 
ticket-agent.  The  latter  a  sleepy,  surly  Eurasian  in 
pyjamas,  surveyed  them  listlessly  from  the  threshold 
of  the  station,  and  without  a  sign  either  of  interest  or 
contempt  turned  and  locked  himself  in. 

Amber  sat  down  on  his  upturned  suit-case  and 
laughed  and  lit  a  cigarette.  Doggott  growled.  The 
noise  of  the  train  died  to  silence  in  the  distance,  and  a 
hyena  came  out  of  nowhere,  exhibited  himself  upon  the 
ridge  of  a  dry  desert  swell,  and  mocked  them  sardoni- 
cally. Then  he,  like  the  ticket-agent,  went  away,  leav- 
ing an  oppressive  silence. 

Presently  the  sun  rose  in  glory  and  sent  its  burning 
level  rays  to  cast  a  shadow  several  rods  long  of  an 
enraged  American  beating  frantically  with  clenched 
fists  upon  the  door  of  an  unresponsive  railway  station. 

He  hammered  until  he  was  a-weary,  then  deputised 
his  task  to  Doggott,  who  resourcefully  found  him  a 
stone  of  size  and  proceeded  to  make  dents  in  the  door. 


184  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

This  method  elicited  the  Eurasian.  He  came  out,  lis- 
tened attentively  to  abuse  and  languidly  to  their  de- 
mands for  a  tonga  to  bear  them  to  Kuttarpur,  and 
observed  that  the  mail  tonga  left  once  a  day — at  three 
in  the  afternoon.  Doggott  caught  him  as  he  was  on 
the  point  of  returning  to  his  interrupted  repose  and 
called  his  attention  to  the  unwisdom  of  his  ways. 

Apparently  convinced,  this  ticket-agent  announced 
his  intention  of  endeavouring  to  find  a  tonga  for  the 
sahib.  Besides,  he  was  not  unwilling  to  acquire  rupees. 
He  scowled  thoughtfully  at  Amber,  ferociously  at  Dog- 
gott, went  back  into  the  station,  gossipped  casually 
with  the  telegraph  sounder  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  finally  reappearing,  without  a  word  or  a  nod  left 
the  platform  for  the  road  and  walked  and  walked  and 
walked  and  walked.  Within  thirty  yards  his  figure 
was  blurred  by  the  dance  of  new-born  heat  devils. 
Within  a  hundred  he  disappeared ;  the  desert  swallowed 
him  up. 

An  hour  passed  as  three.  The  heat  became  terrific ; 
not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred.  The  face  of  the  world  lost 
its  contours  in  wavering  mirage.  The  travellers  found 
lukewarm  water  in  the  station  and  breakfasted  spar- 
ingly from  their  own  stores  of  biscuit  and  tinned  things. 
Then,  in  the  shadow  of  the  station,  they  settled  down  to 
wait,  bored  to  extinction.  Lulled  by  the  hushed  chatter 
of  the  telegraph  sounder,  Doggott  nodded  and  slept 
audibly ;  Amber  nodded,  felt  himself  going,  roused  with 
a  struggle,  and  lapsed  into  a  dreary  mid-world  of 
semi-stupor. 

In  the  simple  fulness  of  Asiatic  time  a  tonga  came 


THE  TONGA  185 

from  Heaven  knew  where  and  roused  him  by  rattling 
up  beside  the  platform.  He  got  up  and  looked  it  over 
with  a  just  eye  and  a  temper  none  the  sweeter  for  his 
experience.  It  was  a  brute  of  a  tonga,  a  patched  and 
ramshackle  wreck  of  what  had  once  been  a  real  tonga, 
with  no  top  to  protect  the  travellers  from  the  sun,  and 
accommodation  only  for  three,  including  the  driver. 

The  Eurasian  ticket-agent  alighted  and  solicited 
rupees.  He  got  them  and  with  them  Amber's  unvar- 
nished opinion  of  the  tonga ;  something  which  was  not 
received  with  civility  by  the  driver. 

He  remained  in  his  seat — a  short,  swart  native  with 
an  evil  countenance  and,  across  his  knees,  a  sheathed 
tulwar — arguing  with  Amber  in  broken  English  and 
abusing  him  scandalously  in  impurest  Hindi,  flinging  at 
him  in  silken  tones  untranslatable  scraps  of  bazaar  Bil- 
lingsgate. For,  as  he  explained  in  an  audible  aside  to 
the  ticket-agent,  this  sahib  was  an  outlander  and,  being 
as  ignorant  as  most  sahibs,  could  not  understand  Hindi. 
At  this  the  Eurasian  turned  away  to  hide  a  grin  of 
delight  and  the  driver  winked  deliberately  at  Amber 
the  while  he  broadly  sketched  for  him  his  ancestry  and 
the  manner  of  his  life  at  home  and  abroad. 

Thunderstruck,  Amber  caught  himself  just  as  he  was 
on  the  point  of  attempting  to  drag  the  driver  from 
his  seat  and  beat  him  into  a  more  endurable  frame 
of  mind.  He  swallowed  the  hint  and  gave  up  the 
contest. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  conceded.  "  I  presume  you're 
trying  to  say  there  isn't  another  tonga  to  be  had  and  it 
can't  be  helped;  but  I  don't  like  your  tone.  However, 


186  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

there  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  to  do  but  take  you. 
How  much  for  the  two  of  us  ?  " 

"  Your  servant,  sahib  ?  He  cannot  ride  in  this 
tonga,"  asserted  the  driver  impassively. 

"He  can't!     Why  not?" 

"  You  can  see  there  is  room  for  but  two,  and  I  have 
yet  another  passenger." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  first  dak-bungalow,  Sahib,  where  the  mail- 
tonga  broke  down  last  night.  This  tonga,  which  I  say 
is  an  excellent  tonga,  an  aram  tonga,  a  tonga  for  ease, 
is  sent  to  take  its  place.  More  than  this,  I  am  bidden 
to  go  in  haste;  therefore  there  is  little  time  for  you  to 
decide  whether  or  not  you  will  go  with  me  alone.  As 
for  your  servant,  he  can  follow  by  this  afternoon's  mail 
tonga." 

Upon  this  ultimatum  he  stood,  immovable;  neither 
threats  nor  bribery  availed.  It  was  an  order,  he  said: 
he  had  no  choice  other  than  to  obey.  Shabash !  Would 
the  sahib  be  pleased  to  make  up  his  mind  quickly? 

Perforce,  the  sahib  yielded.  "  It'll  be  Labertouche ; 
he's  arranged  this,"  he  told  himself.  "  That  loafer  said 
he'd  gone  on  ahead  of  us."  And  comforted  he  issued 
his  orders  to  Doggott,  who  received  and  acceded  to 
them  with  all  the  ill-grace  imaginable.  He  was  to  re- 
main and  follow  to  Kuttarpur  by  the  afternoon's  tonga. 
He  forthwith  sulked — and  Amber,  looking  round  upon 
the  little  Tophet  that  was  Badshah  Junction,  had  not 
the  heart  to  reprove  the  man. 

"  It's  all  very  well,  sir,"  said  Doggott.  "  I  carn't 
s'y  anything,  I  know.  But,  mark  my  words,  sir — beg- 


THE  TONGA  187 

gin'  your  pardon — there'll  be  trouble  come  of  this. 
That  driver's  as  ill-favoured  a  scoundrel  as  ever  I  see. 
And  as  for  this  'ere  ape,  if  'e  smiles  at  me  just  once 
more,  I'll  give  'im  what-for."  And  he  scowled  so  blackly 
upon  the  Eurasian  that  that  individual  hastily  sought 
the  seclusion  which  the  station  granted. 

Amber  left  him,  then,  with  a  travelling-bag  and  a 
revolver  for  company,  and  the  ticket-agent  and  his  bad 
temper  to  occupy  his  mind. 

Climbing  aboard,  the  Virginian  settled  himself 
against  the  endless  discomforts  of  the  ride  which  he 
foresaw ;  the  tonga  was  anything  but  "  an  aram  tonga 
— a  tonga  for  ease,"  there  was  no  shade  and  no 
breeze,  and  the  face  of  the  land  crawled  with  heat-bred 
haze. 

To  a  crisp  crackling  of  the  whip-lash  over  the  backs 
of  the  two  sturdy,  shaggy,  flea-bitten  ponies,  the  tonga 
swept  away  from  the  station,  swift  as  a  hunted  fox 
with  a  dusty  plume.  The  station  dropped  out  of  sight 
and  the  desert  took  them  to  its  sterile  heart. 

On  every  hand  the  long  swales  rolled  away,  sun- 
baked, rocky,  innocent  of  any  sign  of  life  other  than 
the  trooping  telegraph  poles  in  the  south,  destitute  of 
any  sort  of  vegetation  other  than  the  inevitable  ak  and 
gos.  Wherever  the  eye  wandered  the  prospect  was  the 
same — limitless  expanses  of  raw  blistering  ochres, 
salmon-pinks,  and  dry  faded  reds,  under  a  sky  of  brass 
and  fire. 

Amber  leaned  forward,  watching  the  driver's  face. 
"  Your  name,  tonga-wallah?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Ram  Nath,  sahib."     The  man  spoke  without  mov- 


188  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ing  his  head,  attending  diligently  to  the  management 
of  his  ponies. 

"  And  this  other  passenger,  who  awaits  us  at  the 
idak-bungalow,  Ram  Nath — is  he,  perchance,  one  known 
both  to  you  and  to  me?  " 

Ram  Nath  flicked  the  flagging  ponies.  "  How  should 
I  know?  "  he  returned  brusquely. 

"  One,"  persisted  Amber,  "  who  might  be  known  by 
such  a  name  as,  say,  Pink  Satin?  " 

"  What  manner  of  talk  is  this  ?  "  demanded  Ram  Nath. 
"  I  am  no  child  to  be  amused  by  a  riddle.  I  know 
naught  of  your '  Pink  Satin.' ' '  He  bent  forward,  short- 
ening his  grasp  upon  the  reins,  as  if  to  signify  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end. 

Amber  sat  back,  annoyed  by  the  fellow's  impudence 
yet  sensitive  to  a  suspicion  that  Ram  Nath  was  play- 
ing his  part  better  than  his  passenger,  that  the  rebuke 
was  merited  by  one  who  had  ventured  to  speak  of  secret 
things  in  a  land  whose  very  stones  have  ears.  For  all 
that  he  could  say  their  every  move  was  watched  by 
invisible  spies,  of  whom  the  rock-strewn  waste  through 
which  they  sped  might  well  harbour  a  hidden  legion. 
.  .  .  But  perhaps,  after  all,  Ram  Nath  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  Labertouche.  Undeniable  as  had 
been  his  wink,  it  might  well  have  been  nothing  more 
than  an  impertinence.  At  the  thought  Amber's  eyes 
darkened  and  hardened  and  he  swore  bitterly  beneath 
his  breath.  If  that  were  so,  he  vowed,  the  tonga-wallah 
would  pay  dearly  for  the  indiscretion.  He  set  his  wits 
to  contrive  a  way  to  satisfy  his  doubts. 

Meanwhile  the  tonga  rocked  and  bounded  fiendishly 


THE  TONGA  189 

over  an  infamous  parody  of  a  road,  turning  and  twist- 
ing between  huge  boulders  and  in  and  out  of  pebbly 
nullahs,  Ram  Nath  tooling  it  along  with  the  hand  of  a 
master.  But  all  his  attention  was  of  necessity  centred 
upon  the  ponies,  and  presently  his  tulwar  slipped  from 
his  knees  and  clattered  upon  the  floor  of  the  tonga. 
Amber  saw  his  chance  and  put  his  foot  upon  it. 

"  Ram  Nath,"  he  asked  gently,  "  have  you  no  other 
arms?  " 

"  I  were  a  fool  had  I  not."  The  man  did  not  deign 
to  glance  round.  "  He  hath  need  of  weapons  who  doth 
traffick  with  the  Chosen  of  the  Voice,  sahib." 

"  Ah,  that  Voice !  "  cried  Amber  in  exasperation.  "  I 
grow  weary  of  the  word,  Ram  Nath." 

"  That  may  well  be,"  returned  the  man,  imperturb- 
able. "  None  the  less  it  were  well  for  you  to  have  a  care 
how  you  fondle  the  revolver  in  your  pocket,  sahib. 
Should  it  by  any  chance  go  off  and  the  bullet  find  lodg- 
ment in  your  tonga-wallah,  you  are  like  to  hear  more  of 
that  Voice,  and  from  less  friendly  lips." 

"  I  think  you  have  eyes  in  the  back  of  your  head, 
Ram  Nath."  Amber  withdrew  his  hand  from  his  coat- 
pocket  and  laughed  shortly  as  he  spoke. 

"  There  is  a  saying  in  this  country,  sahib,  that  even 
the  stones  in  the  desert  have  ears  to  hear  and  eyes  to 
see  and  tongues  withal  to  tell  what  they  have  seen  and 
heard." 

"Ah-h!  .  .  .  That  is  a  wise  saying,  Ram 
Nath." 

"  There  be  those  I  could  name  who  would  do  well  to 
lay  that  saying  to  heart,  sahib." 


190  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  You  are  right,  indeed.  .  .  .  Now  if  there  be 
aught  of  truth  in  that  saying,  and  if  one  were  unwisely 
to  speak  a  certain  name,  even  here " 

"  The  echo  of  that  name  might  be  heard  beyond  the 
threshold  of  a  certain  Gateway,  sahib." 

Amber  grunted  and  said  no  more,  contented  now  with 
the  assurance  that  he  was  in  truth  in  touch  with  Laber- 
touche,  that  this  Ram  Nath  was  an  employee  of  the  I. 
S.  S.  The  wink  was  now  explained  away  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  tonga-wallah's  churlishness.  Since  there 
was  a  purpose  behind  it  all,  the  Virginian  was  satisfied 
to  contain  his  curiosity.  Nevertheless  he  could  not  help 
thinking  that  there  must  be  some  fantastic  exaggera- 
tion in  the  excessive  degree  of  caution  that  was  thus 
tacitly  imposed  upon  him. 

He  looked  round  him,  narrowing  his  eyes  against  the 
sun-glare;  and  the  desert  showed  itself  to  his  eyes  a 
desert  waste  and  nothing  more.  The  day  lay  stark 
upon  its  lifeless  face  and  it  seemed  as  if,  within  the 
wide  rim  of  the  horizon,  no  thing  moved  save  the  tonga. 
They  were  then  passing  rapidly  over  higher  ground  and 
seemed  to  have  drawn  a  shade  nearer  to  the  raw  red 
northern  hills.  Amber  would  have  said  that  they  could 
never  have  found  a  solitude  more  absolute. 

The  thought  was  still  in  his  mind  when  the  tonga 
dipped  unexpectedly  over  another  ridge,  began  to 
descend  another  long  grade  of  dead,  parched  earth,  and 
discovered  some  distance  ahead  of  them  on  the  wagon- 
track  a  cloud  of  dust  like  a  tinted  veil,  so  dense,  opaque, 
and  wide  and  high  that  its  cause  was  altogether  con- 
cealed in  its  reddish,  glittering  convolutions.  But  the 


THE  TONGA  191 

Virginian  knew  the  land  well  enough  to  recognise  the 
phenomenon  and  surmise  its  cause,  even  before  his  ears 
began  to  be  assailed  by  the  hideous  rasping  screech  of 
wheels  of  solid  wood  revolving  reluctantly  on  rough- 
hewn  axles  guiltless  of  grease.  And  as  the  tonga 
swiftly  lessened  the  distance,  his  gaze,  penetrating  the 
thinning  folds,  discerned  the  contours  of  a  cotton-wain 
drawn  by  twin  stunted  bullocks,  patient  noses  to  the 
ground,  tails  a-switch.  Beside  his  cattle  the  driver 
plodded,  goad  in  hand,  a  naked  sword  upon  his  hip. 
Within  his  reach,  between  the  rude  bales  of  the  loaded 
cart,  the  butt  of  a  brass-bound  musket  protruded  sig- 
nificantly. .  .  .  All  men  went  armed  in  that  wild 
land :  to  do  as  much  is  one  of  the  boons  attendant  upon 
citizenship  in  an  unprogressive,  independent  native 
State. 

Deliberately  enough  the  carter  swerved  his  beasts 
aside  to  make  way  for  the  tonga,  lest  by  undue  haste 
he  should  make  himself  seem  other  than  what  he  was — a 
free  man  and  a  Rajput.  But  when  his  fierce,  hawk- 
like eyes  encountered  those  of  the  dak  traveller,  his 
attitude  changed  curiously  and  completely.  Recogni- 
tion and  reverence  fought  with  surprise  in  his  ex- 
pression, and  as  Ram  Nath  swung  the  tonga  past  the 
man  salaamed  profoundly.  His  voice,  as  he  rose,  came 
after  them,  resonant  and  clear: 

"  Hail,  thou  Chosen  of  the  Gateway!     Hail!  " 

Amber  neither  turned  to  look  nor  replied.     But  his 

frown  deepened.     The  incident  passed  into  his  history, 

marked  only  by  the  terse  comment  it  educed  from  Ram 

Nath — words  which  were  flung  curtly  over  the  tonga- 


192  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

wallah's  shoulder:  "  Eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear  and  a 
tongue  withal  .  .  .  sahib ! " 

The  Virginian  said  nothing.  But  it  was  in  his  mind 
that  he  had  indeed  thrust  his  head  into  the  lion's  mouth 
by  thus  adventuring  into  the  territory  which  every  in- 
stinct of  caution  and  common-sense  proclaimed  taboo 
to  him — the  erstwhile  kingdom  of  the  Maharana  Har 
Dyal  Rutton.  It  was,  in  a  word,  foolhardy — nothing 
less.  But  for  his  pledged  word  it  had  been  so  easy  to 
order  Ram  Nath  to  convey  him  back  to  Badshah  Junc- 
tion— to  order  and  to  enforce  obedience  at  the  pistol's 
point,  if  needs  be!  Honour  held  him  helpless,  bound 
upon  the  Wheel  of  his  Destiny:  he  must  and  would  go 
on.  .  .  . 

He  sat  in  silent  gloom  while  sixty  minutes  were 
drummed  out  by  the  flying  hoofs.  The  hills  folded  in 
about  the  way,  diverting  it  hither  and  yon  with  raw, 
seamed  spurs,  whose  flanks  flung  back  harsh  and  heavy 
echoes  of  the  tonga's  flight  through  riven  gulch  and 
scrub-grown  valley.  And  then  it  was  that  Ram  Nath 
proved  his  mettle.  Hardened  himself,  he  showed  no 
mercy  to  his  passenger,  and  never  once  drew  rein, 
though  the  tonga  danced  from  rock  to  ridge  and  ridge 
to  rut  and  back  again,  like  a  tin  can  on  the  tail  of  an  as- 
tonished dog.  As  for  Amber,  he  wedged  his  feet  and 
held  on  with  both  hands,  grimly,  groaning  in  spirit 
when  he  did  not  in  the  flesh,  foreseeing  as  he  did  nine 
hours  more  of  this  heroic  torture  punctuated  only  by 
brief  respites  at  the  end  of  each  stage. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    LONG    DAT 

ONE  travels  dak  by  relays  casually  disposed  along  the 
route  at  the  whim  of  the  native  contractor.  Between 
Badshah  Junction  and  Kuttarpur  there  were  ten  stages, 
of  which  the  conclusion  of  the  first  was  at  hand — Amber 
having  all  but  abandoned  belief  in  its  existence. 

Slamming  recklessly  down  the  bed  of  an  ancient  water- 
course, the  tonga  spun  suddenly  upon  one  wheel  round 
a  shoulder  of  the  banks  and  dashed  out  upon  a  rolling 
plain,  across  which  the  trail  snaked  to  other  farther 
hills  that  lay  dim  and  low,  a  wavy  line  of  blue,  upon  the 
horizon — the  hills  in  whose  heart  Kuttarpur  itself  lay 
occult.  And,  by  the  roadside,  in  a  compound  fenced  with 
camel-thorn,  sat  an  aged  and  indigent  dak-bungalow, 
marking  the  end  of  the  first  stage,  the  beginning  of  the 
second. 

It  wore  a  look  of  Heaven  to  the  traveller.  In  the 
shade  of  its  veranda  he  read  an  urgent  invitation  to 
rest  and  surcease  of  sunlight.  He  approved  it  thor- 
oughly; the  ramshackle  rest-house  itself,  the  sheds  in 
the  rear  for  the  accommodation  of  relays,  the  syce 
squatting  asleep  in  the  sunshine,  the  few  scrawny 
chickens  squabbling  and  scratching  over  their  precari- 
ous sustenance  in  the  deep  hot  dust  of  the  compound, 
even  the  broken  tonga  reposing  with  its  shafts  uplifted 

193 


194  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

at  a  piteous  angle  of  decrepitude — all  these  Amber  sur- 
veyed with  a  kindly  eye. 

Ram  Nath  reined  in  with  a  flourish  and  lifted  a 
raucous  voice,  hailing  the  syce,  while  Amber,  painfully 
disengaging  his  cramped  limbs,  climbed  down  and  stum- 
bled toward  the  veranda.  The  abrupt  transition  from 
violent  and  erratic  motion  to  a  solid  and  substantial 
footing  affected  him  unpleasantly,  with  an  undeniable 
qualm;  the  earth  seemed  to  rock  and  flow  beneath  him 
as  if  under  the  influence  of  an  antic  earthquake.  He 
was  for  some  seconds  occupied  with  the  problem  of  re- 
gaining his  poise,  and  it  was  not  until  he  heard  an  Eng- 
lishwoman's voice  uplifted  in  accents  of  anger,  that  he 
remembered  the  other  wayfarer  with  whom  he  was  to 
share  his  tonga,  or  associated  the  white-clad  figure  in 
the  dark  doorway  of  the  bungalow  with  anything  but 
the  khansamah,  coming  to  greet  and  cheat  the  chance- 
brought  guest. 

"  Where  is  that  tonga-wallah  who  deserted  me  here 
last  night?  "  the  woman  was  demanding  of  Ram  Nath, 
too  preoccupied  with  her  resentment  to  have  eyes  for  the 
other  traveller,  who  at  sight  of  her  had  stopped  and 
removed  his  pith  helmet  and  now  stood  staring  as  if  he 
had  come  from  a  land  in  which  there  were  no  women. 
"  Where,"  she  continued,  with  an  imperative  stamp  of 
a  daintily-shod  foot,  "  is  that  wretched  tonga-wallah  ?  " 

"  Sahiba,"  protested  Ram  Nath,  with  a  great  show 
of  deference,  "  how  should  I  know?  Belike  he  is  in  Bad- 
shah  Junction,  whither  he  returned  very  late  last  night, 
being  travel-worn  and  weary,  and  where  I  left  him, 
being  sent  with  this  excellent  tonga  to  take  his  place." 


THE  LONG  DAY  195 

"  You  were  ?  And  why  have  I  been  detained  here, 
alone  and  unprotected,  this  long  night?  Simply  be- 
cause that  other  tonga-wallah  was  a  fool,  am  I  to  be 
imposed  upon  in  this  fashion?  " 

**  What  am  I,"  whimpered  Ram  Nath,  "  to  endure 
the  wrath  of  the  sahiba  for  a  fault  that  is  none  of 
mine?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  turning  to 
Amber,  "  but  it  is  very  annoying."  She  looked  him 
over,  first  with  abstraction,  then  with  a  puzzled  gather- 
ing of  her  brows,  for  he  was  far  from  her  thoughts — 
the  last  person  she  would  have  expected  to  meet  in  that 
place,  and  very  effectually  disguised  in  dust  and  dirt 
besides.  "  The  tire  came  off  the  wheel  just  as  we  got 
here,  late  yesterday  evening,  and  in  trying,  or  pretend- 
ing to  try,  to  fit  it  on  again,  that  block-head  of  a  tonga- 
wallah  hammered  the  rim  with  a  rock  as  big  as  his 
head  and  naturally  smashed  it  to  kindling-wood.  Then, 
before  I  could  stop  him,  he  flung  himself  on  the  back  of 
a  pony  and  went  away,  saying  that  it  was  the  will  of 
God  that  he  should  return  to  Badshah  for  a  better 
tonga.  Since  when  I  have  had  for  company  one  stable- 
scye,  one  deaf-and-dumb  patriarch  of  a  khansamah  and 
.  .  .  the  usual  dak-bungalow  discomforts — insects, 
bad  food,  and  a  terrible  fear  of  dacoits." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Miss  Farrell,"  Amber  put  in.  "  If 
I  had  only  been  here  ..." 

The  girl  gave  a  little  gasp  and  sat  down  abruptly  in 
one  of  the  veranda  chairs,  thereby  threatening  it  with 
instant  demolition  and  herself  with  a  bad  spill ;  for  the 
chair  was  feeble  with  the  burden  of  its  many  years,  and 


196  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

she  was  a  quite  substantial  young  person.  Indeed,  so 
loudly  did  it  croak  a  protest  and  a  warning  that  she 
immediately  arose  in  alarm. 

"  Mr.  Amber !  "  she  said ;  and,  "  Well   .    .    .    !  " 

"You'll  forgive  me  the  surprise?"  he  begged,  go- 
ing up  on  the  veranda  to  her.  "  I  myself  had  no 
hope  of  finding  you  here." 

"  But,"  she  protested,  with  a  pretty  flush  of  colour — 
"  but  I  left  you  in  the  States  such  a  little  while 
ago!" 

"  Yes?  "  he  said  gravely.  "  It  seems  so  long  to  me. 
:. .  .  .  And  when  you  had  gone,  Long  Island  was  a 
very  lonely  place  indeed,"  he  added,  with  calculated 
impudence. 

Her  colour  deepened  and  she  sought  another  chair, 
seating  herself  with  gingerly  decision.  "  I'm  sure  you 
don't  mean  me  to  assume  that  you've  followed  me  half 
round  the  world?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  He  brought  another  chair  to  face 
her.  "  Besides,  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  ...  India 
for  a  good  many  years." 

"  Mr.  Amber !  " 

"  Ma'am  ?  "  he  countered  with  affected  humility. 

"  You're  spoiling  it  all.  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you — 
I'd  have  been  glad  to  see  any  white  man,  of  course 

"  Much  obliged,  I'm  sure." 

"  And  now  you're  actually  flirting  with  me — or  pre- 
tending to." 

"  I'm  not,"  he  declared  soberly.  "  As  a  matter  of 
solemn  fact,  I  had  to  come  to  India." 

"You  had  to?" 


THE  LONG  DAY  197 

"  On  a  matter  of  serious  business.  Please  don't  ask 
me  what,  just  yet;  but  it's  very  serious,  to  my  way  of 
thinking.  This  happy  accident — I  count  myself  a  very 
happy  man  to  have  been  so  fortunate — only  makes  my 
errand  the  more  pleasant." 

She  regarded  him  intently,  chin  in  hand,  her  brown 
eyes  sedate  with  speculation,  for  some  time.  "  I  believe 
you've  been  speaking  in  parables,"  she  asserted,  at 
length.  "If  I'm  unjust,  bear  with  me;  appearances 
are  against  you.  There  isn't  any  reason  I  know  of  why 
you  should  tell  me  what  brought  you  here " 

"  There's  every  reason,  in  point  of  fact,  Miss  Far- 
rell;  only  ...  I  can't  explain  just  now." 

"  Very  well,"  she  agreed  briskly ;  "  let's  be  content 
with  that.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  truly;  and 
— we're  to  travel  on  to  Kuttarpur  in  the  same 
tonga?" 

"  If  you'll  permit " 

"  After  what  I've  endured,  this  awful  night,  I 
wouldn't  willingly  let  you  out  of  my  sight." 

"  Or  any  other  white  man  ?  " 

She  laughed,  pleased.  "  I  presume  you're  wondering 
what  I'm  doing  here?  " 

"  You  were  to  join  your  father  in  Darjeeling,  I 
believe?  "  he  countered,  cautious. 

"  But  I  found  he'd  been  transferred  unexpectedly  to 
Kuttarpur.  So,  of  course,  I  had  to  follow.  I  tele- 
graphed him  day  before  yesterday  when  I  was  to  ar- 
rive at  Badshah  Junction,  and  naturally  expected  he'd 
come  in  person  or  have  some  one  meet  me,  but  I  pre- 
sume the  message  must  have  gone  astray.  At  all  events 


198  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

there  was  no  one  there  for  me  and  I  had  to  come  on 
alone.  It's  hardly  been  a  pleasant  experience;  that 
incompetent  tonga-wallah  behaved  precisely  as  though 
he  had  deliberately  made  up  his  mind  to  delay  me. 
.  .  .  And  the  tonga's  nearly  ready;  I  must  lock  my 
kit-bag." 

She  went  into  the  bungalow,  leaving  him  thoughtful, 
for  perhaps .  .  .  But  the  back  of  Ram  Nath,  as  that 
worthy  busied  himself  superintending  the  harnessing 
in  of  fresh  ponies,  conveyed  to  him  no  support  for  his 
half -credited  hypothesis  that  this  "  accident  "  had  been 
carefully  planned  by  Labertouche  for  Amber's  especial 
benefit. 

He  vexed  himself  with  vain  speculations,  for  it  was 
perfectly  certain  that  he  would  get  nothing  in  the 
way  of  either  denial  or  confirmation  out  of  Ram  Nath ; 
and,  presently,  acknowledging  this,  he  called  the  khan- 
samah  and  ordered  a  peg  for  the  sake  of,  the  dust  in  his 
throat. 

The  girl  joined  him  on  the  veranda  in  due  course, 
very  demure  and  sweet  to  look  upon  in  her  travelling- 
dress  of  light  pongee  and  her  pith  helmet,  whose  green 
under-brim  and  puggaree  served  very  handsomely  to 
set  off  her  fair  colouring.  If  she  overlooked  the  adora- 
tion of  his  eyes,  she  was  rather  less  than  woman;  for 
it  was  in  them,  plain  to  be  seen  for  the  looking.  The 
khansamah  followed  her  from  the  bungalow,  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  her  box  and  kit-bag,  and  with 
Ram  Nath's  surly  assistance  made  them  fast  to  the  front 
seat.  While  Amber  gave  the  girl  his  hand  to  help  her 
to  her  place,  and  lifted  himself  to  her  side  in  a  mute 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Dodd,  Mead  &  Company 


THE  GIRL  JOINED  HIM  ON  THE  VERANDA     .    .    .     VERY  DEMURE 
AND  SWEET  TO  LOOK  UPON  IN  HER  TRAVELLING- 
DRESS  OF  LIGHT  PONGEE" 


THE  LONG  DAY  199 

glow  of  ecstasy.  Fate,  he  thought  with  reason,  was  most 
kind  to  him. 

They  rattled  headlong  from  the  compound,  making 
for  the  distant  hills  of  blue.  The  girl  drew  down  her 
puggaree,  with  its  soft,  thin  folds  sheltering  the  pure 
contours  of  her  face  from  the  dust  and  burning  sun- 
glare.  He  watched  her  hungrily,  holding  his  breath 
as  the  thought  came  to  him  that  he  was  seated  elbow 
to  elbow  with  the  woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife,  his 
hand  still  a-tingle  with  the  reminiscence  of  her  gloved 
fingers  that  had  touched  it  so  transiently.  She  caught 
his  intent  look  and  smiled,  her  eyes  lustrous  through 
the  veiling. 

She  was  very  tired  after  her  night-long  vigil,  and 
after  a  few  words  of  commonplace  as  they  drew  away 
from  the  station,  he  forebore  to  weary  her  with  talk, 
and  a  silence  as  sweet  as  communion  lengthened  be- 
tween them  as  the  stage  lengthened.  He  was  very  in- 
tent upon  her  presence;  the  consciousness  of  her  there 
beside  him  seemed,  at  times,  almost  suffocating.  He 
could  by  no  means  forget  that  she  had  in  a  curious  way 
been  assigned  to  him — set  aside  to  be  his  wife,  the 
partner  of  all  his  days;  and  she  tolerated  him  kindly, 
all  unsuspicious  of  the  significance  of  his  advent  into 
her  life.  ...  If  she  were  made  to  suspect,  to  under- 
stand, what  effect  would  it  have  upon  their  relations, 
slight  and  but  lately  established  as  they  were?  Would 
she  shrink  from  or  encourage  him? 

His  wife!  He  wagged  his  head  in  solemn  stupefac- 
tion, trying  to  appreciate  the  intangible,  the  chimeri- 
cal dream  of  yesterday  resolved  into  the  actuality  of 


200  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

to-day;  realising  that,  even  when  most  intrigued  by 
the  adventure  of  which  she  was  at  once  the  cause  and 
the  prize,  even  though  he  had  met  and  been  charmed  by 
her  before  becoming  enmeshed  in  its  web  of  incident,  he 
had  thought  of  her  with  a  faint  trace  of  incredulity, 
as  though  she  had  been  a  thing  of  fable,  trapped  with 
all  the  fanciful  charms  of  beleaguered  fairy  princesses, 
rather  than  a  living  woman  of  flesh  and  fire  and  blood 
— such  as  she  proved  to  be  who  rode  with  him,  her 
thoughts  drowsily  astray  in  the  vastnesses  of  her  in- 
scrutable, virginal  moods. 

To  think  that  she  was  foreordained  to  be  his  wife 
was  not  more  unbelievable  than  the  consciousness  that 
he,  her  undeclared  lover,  her  predestined  mate  and  pro- 
tector, was  listlessly  permitting  her  to  delve  further 
into  the  black  heart  of  a  land  out  of  which  he  had 
promised  to  convey  her  with  all  possible  speed,  for  the 
salvation  of  her  body  and  soul.  .  .  .  Yet  what  could 
he  do,  save  be  passive  for  the  time,  and  wait  upon  the 
turn  of  events?  He  could  not,  dared  not  seize  her  in 
his  arms  and  insist  that  she  love  him,  marry  him,  fly  with 
him — all  within  the  compass  of  an  hour  or  even  of  a 
day.  For  words  of  love  came  haltingly  to  his  un- 
skilled tongue,  though  they  came  from  a  surcharged 
heart,  and  to  him  the  strategy  of  love  was  as  a  sealed 
book,  at  whose  contents  he  could  but  guess,  and  that 
with  a  diffidence  and  distrust  sadly  handicapping  to  one 
who  had  urgent  need  of  expedition  in  his  courting. 

With  a  rueful  smile  and  a  perturbed  heart  he  pon- 
dered his  problem.  The  second  stage  wore  away  with- 
out a  dozen  words  passing  between  them;  so  also  the 


THE  LONG  DAY  201 

third.  The  pauses  were  brief  enough,  the  ponies  being 
exchanged  with  gratifying  despatch.  The  tonga  would 
pull  up,  Ram  Nath  would  jump  down  .  .  .  and  in  a 
brace  of  minutes  or  little  more  the  vehicle  would  be 
en  route  again,  Amber  engaged  with  the  infinite  rami- 
fications of  this  labyrinthal  riddle  of  his,  and  the  girl 
insensibly  yielding  to  the  need  of  sleep.  She  passed,  at 
length,  into  sound  unconsciousness. 

Thus  the  morning  stages  flowed  beneath  the  tonga, 
personified  in  a  winding  ribbon  of  roadway,  narrow, 
deep-rutted,  inexpressibly  dusty,  lined  uncertainly  over 
a  scrubby,  sun-scorched  waste.  Sophia  napped  un- 
easily by  fits  and  starts,  waking  now  and  again  with  a 
sleepy  smile  and  a  fragmentary,  murmured  apology. 
She  roused  finally  very  much  refreshed  for  the  midday 
halt  for  rest  and  tiffin,  which  they  passed  at  one  of  the 
conventional  bungalows,  in  nothing  particularly  unlike 
its  fellows  unless  it  were  that  they  enjoyed,  before 
tiffin,  the  gorgeous  luxury  of  plenty  of  clean  water, 
cooled  in  porous  earthen  jars.  Amber,  overwhelmed 
by  the  discovery  of  this  abundance,  promptly  went  to 
the  extreme  of  calling  in  the  khansamah  to  sluice  him 
down  with  jar  after  jar,  and  felt  like  himself  for  the 
first  time  in  five  days  when,  shaved  and  dressed,  he 
returned  to  the  common  living-room  of  the  rest- 
house. 

The  girl  kept  him  waiting  but  a  little  while.  Lack- 
ing the  attentions  of  an  ayah  she  had  probably  been 
unable  to  bathe  so  extensively  as  he,  but  eventually  she 
appeared  in  an  immeasurably  more  happy  state  of  body 
and  mind,  calling  up  to  him  the  simile,  stronger  than 


202  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

any  other,  of  a  tall,  fair  lily  after  a  morning  shower. 
And  she  was  in  a  bewitching  humour,  one  that  ingenu- 
ously enough  succeeded  in  entangling  him  more  thor- 
oughly than  ever  before  in  the  web  of  her  fascinations. 
Over  an  execrable  curry  of  stringy  fowl  and  question- 
able rice,  eked  out  with  tea  and  tinned  delicacies 
of  their  own,  their  chatter,  at  the  beginning  suffi- 
ciently gay  and  inconsequent,  drifted  by  imperceptible 
and  unsuspected  gradations  perilously  close  to  the 
shoals  of  intimacy.  And  subsequently,  when  they  had 
packed  themselves  back  into  the  narrow  tonga-seat  and 
again  were  being  bounced  and  juggled  breathlessly 
over  shocking  roads,  the  exchange  of  confidences  con- 
tinued with  unabated  interest.  Amber  on  his  part  was 
led  to  talk  of  his  life  and  work,  of  his  adventures  in 
the  name  of  Science,  of  his  ambitions  and  achievements. 
In*  return  he  received  a  vivid  impression  of  the  lives  of 
those  women  who  share  with  their  men  the  burden  of 
official  life  in  British  India :  of  serene  days  in  the  brisk, 
invigorating,  clear  atmosphere  of  hill  stations ;  of  sun- 
smitten  days  and  steaming  nights  in  the  Deccan ;  of  the 
uncertain,  anchorless  existences  of  those  who  know  not 
from  one  day  to  another  when  they  may  be  whisked 
half  across  an  Empire  at  the  whim  of  that  awful  force 
simply  nominated  Government  .  .  . 

For  all  the  taint  upon  her  pedigree,  she  proved  her- 
self to  Amber  at  heart  a  simple,  lonely  Englishwoman — 
a  stranger  in  a  sullen  and  suspicious  land,  desiring 
nothing  better  than  to  return  to  the  England  she  had 
seen  and  learned  to  love,  the  England  of  ample  lawns, 
of  box-hedges,  and  lanes,  of  travelled  highways,  pave- 


THE  LONG  DAY  203 

ments  and  gaslights,  of  shops  and  theatres,  of  home 
and  family  ties  .  .  . 

But  India  she  knew.  "  I  sometimes  fancy,"  she  told 
him  with  the  conscious  laugh  that  deprecates  a  con- 
fessed superstition,  "  that  I  must  have  lived  here  in 
some  past  incarnation."  She  paused,  but  he  did  not 
speak.  "  Do  you  believe  in  reincarnation  ?  "  Again  he 
had  no  answer  for  her,  though  temporarily  he  saw  the 
daylight  as  darkness.  "  It's  hard  to  live  here  for  long 
and  resist  belief  in  it.  ...  But  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  seem  to  understand  these  people  better  than  they  're 
understood  by  most  of  my  people.  Don't  you  think 
it  curious?  Perhaps  it's  merely  intuition 

"  That's  the  birthright  of  your  sex,"  he  said,  rousing. 
"  On  the  other  hand,  you  have  to  remember  that  your 
father  is  one  of  a  family  that  for  generations  has  served 
the  Empire.  And  your  mother  ?  " 

"  She,  too,  came  of  an  Anglo-Indian  family.  In- 
deed, they  met  and  courted  here,  though  they  were 
married  in  England.  ...  So  you  think  my  insight 
into  native  character  a  sort  of  birthright — a  sense 
inherited  ?  " 

"  Perhaps — something  of  the  sort." 

"  You  may  be  right.  We'll  never  know.  At  all 
events,  I  seem  to  have  a  more — more  painful  compre- 
hension of  the  native  than  most  of  the  English  in  this 
country  have ;  I  seem  to  feel,  to  sense  their  motives,  their 
desires,  aspirations,  even  sometimes  their  untranslatable 
thoughts.  I  believe  I  understand  perfectly  their  feel- 
ing toward  us,  the  governing  race." 

"  Then,"    said    Amber,    "  you    know    something    his 


204  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Highness  the  Viceroy  himself  would  give  his  ears  to  be 
sure  of." 

"I  know  that;  but  I  do." 

"  And  that  feeling  is ?  " 

"  Not  love,  Mr.  Amber." 

"  Much  to  the  contrary ?  " 

"  Very  much,"  she  affirmed  with  deep  conviction. 

"  This  '  Indian  unrest '  one  reads  of  in  the  papers 
is  not  mere  gossip,  then?  " 

"  Anything  but  that ;  it's  the  hidden  fire  stirring 
within  the  volcano  we  told  ourselves  was  dead.  The  quiet 
of  the  last  fifty  years  has  been  not  content  but  slumber ; 
deep  down  there  has  always  been  the  fire,  slow,  deadly, 
smouldering  beneath  the  ashes.  The  Mutiny  still  lives 
in  spirit ;  some  day  it  will  break  out  afresh.  You  must 
believe  me — I  know.  The  more  we  English  give  our 
lives  to  educate  the  natives,  the  further  we  spread  the 
propaganda  of  discontent;  day  by  day  we're  teaching 
them  to  understand  that  we  are  no  better  than  they,  no 
more  fit  to  rule;  they  are  beginning  to  look  up  and  to 
see  over  the  rim  of  the  world — and  we  have  opened  their 
eyes.  They  have  learned  that  Japanese  can  defeat 
Caucasians,  that  China  turns  in  its  sleep,  that  England 
is  no  more  omnipotent  than  omniscient.  They've  heard 
of  anarchy  and  socialism  and  have  learned  to  throw 
bombs.  Only  the  other  day  a  justice  in  Bengal  was 
killed  by  a  bomb.  ...  I  fancy  I  talk,"  the  girl 
broke  off  with  her  clear  laugh,  "  precisely  like  my 
father,  who  talks  precisely  as  a  political  pamphleteer 
writes.  You'll  see  when  you  meet  him." 

"Do  you  take  much  interest  in  politics?" 


THE  LONG  DAY  205 

"  No  more  than  the  every-day  Englishwoman ;  it's 
one  of  our  staples  of  conversation,  when  we've  exhausted 
the  weather,  you  know.  But  I'm  not  in  the  least  ad- 
vanced, if  that's  what  you  mean;  I  hunger  after 
fashion-papers  and  spend  more  time  than  I  ought,  de- 
vouring home-made  trash  imported  in  paper-covers.  I 
only  feel  what  I  feel  by  instinct — as  I  said  awhile  ago." 

Perhaps  if  he  had  known  less  about  the  girl,  he  would 
have  attached  less  importance  to  her  statements.  As  it 
was,  she  impressed  him  profoundly.  He  pondered  her 
words  deeply,  storing  them  in  his  memory,  remember- 
ing that  another  had  spoken  in  the  same  manner — one 
for  whose  insight  into  the  ways  of  the  native  he  had 
intense  respect. 

As  the  slow  afternoon  dragged  out  its  blazing  hours, 
their  spirits  languished,  and  they  fell  silent,  full  weary 
and  listless.  Towards  the  last  quarter  of  the  journey 
their  road  forsook  the  spacious,  haggard  plain  and 
again  entered  a  hilly  country,  but  this  time  one  wherein 
there  was  no  lack  either  of  water  or  of  life:  a  green 
and  fertile  land  parcelled  into  farms  and  dotted  with 
villages. 

Night  overtook  the  tonga  when  it  was  close  upon 
Kuttarpur,  swooping  down  upon  the  world  like  a  blanket 
of  darkness,  at  the  moment  that  the  final  relay  of  ponies 
was  being  hitched  in.  The  sun  dipped  behind  the  encir- 
cling hills ;  the  west  blazed  with  the  lambent  flame  of 
fire-opal;  the  wonderful  translucent  blue  of  the  sky 
shaded  suddenly  to  deep  purple  lanced  by  great  shafts 
of  mauve  and  amethyst  light,  and  in  the  east  stars 
popped  out;  the  hills  shone  like  huge,  crude  gems — 


206  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

sapphire,  jade,  jasper,  malachite,  chalcedony — their 
valleys  swimming  with  mists  of  mother-of-pearl.  .  .  . 
And  it  was  night,  the  hills  dark  and  still,  the  sky  a 
deeper  purple  and  opaque,  the  ruddy  fires  of  wayfarers 
on  the  roadside  leaping  clear  and  bright. 

With  fresh  ponies  the  tonga  took  the  road  with  a 
wild  initial  rush  soon  to  be  moderated,  when  it  began 
to  climb  the  last  steep  grade  to  the  pass  that  gives 
access  to  Kuttarpur  from  the  south.  For  an  hour  the 
road  toiled  up  and  ever  upward;  steep  cliffs  of  rock 
crowded  it,  threatening  to  push  it  over  into  black 
abysses,  or  to  choke  it  off  between  towering,  formidable 
walls.  It  swerved  suddenly  into  a  broad,  clear  space. 
The  tonga  paused.  Voluntarily  Ram  Nath  spoke  for 
almost  the  first  time  since  morning. 

"  Kuttarpur,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  whip. 

Aloof,  austere  and  haughty,  the  City  of  Swords  sits 
in  the  mouth  of  a  ravine  so  narrow  that  a  wall  no  more 
than  a  hundred  yards  in  length  is  sufficient  to  seal  its 
southerly  approach.  Beneath  this  wall,  to  one  side  of 
the  city  gate,  a  river  flows  from  the  lake  that  is  Kut- 
tarpur's  chiefest  beauty.  Within,  a  multitude  of  dwell- 
ings huddles,  all  interpenetrated  by  streets  and  back- 
ways  so  straitened  and  sinuous  as  scarcely  to  permit 
the  passage  of  an  elephant  from  the  Maharana's  herd ; 
congested  in  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  the  houses  climb 
tier  upon  tier  the  flanking  hillsides,  until  their  top- 
most roofs  threaten  even  the  supremacy  of  that  miracle 
in  white  marble,  the  Raj  Mahal. 

Northwards  the  palace  of  Khandawar's  kings  stands, 
exquisite,  rare,  and  marvellous,  unlike  any  other  build- 


THE  LONG  DAY  207 

ing  in  the  world.  White,  all  white,  from  the  lake  that 
washes  its  lowest  walls  to  the  crenellated  rim  of  its 
highest  roof,  it  sweeps  upward  in  breath-taking  steps 
and  wide  terraces  to  the  crest  of  the  western  hill,  into 
which  it  burrows,  from  which  it  springs ;  a  vast  enigma 
propounded  in  white  marble  without  a  note  of  colour 
save  where  the  foliage  of  a  hidden  garden  peeps  over 
the  edge  of  a  jealous  screen — a  hundred  imposing  man- 
sions merged  into  one  monstrous  and  imperial  maze. 

Impregnable  in  the  old  days,  before  cannon  were 
brought  to  India,  Kuttarpur  lives  to-day  remote,  un- 
friendly, inhospitable.  Within  its  walls  there  is  no 
room  for  many  visitors;  they  who  come  in  numbers, 
therefore,  must  perforce  camp  down  before  the  gates. 

Now  figure  the  city  to  yourself,  seeing  it  as  Sophia 
was  later  to  see  it  in  the  light  of  day;  then  drench  it 
with  blue  Indian  night  and  stud  it  with  a  myriad  eyes 
of  fire — lamps,  torches,  candles,  blue-white  electric  arcs, 
lights  running  up  and  down  both  hillsides  and  fring- 
ing the  very  star-sheeted  skies,  clustering  and  diverging 
in  vast,  bewildering,  inconsequent  designs,  picking  out 
the  walls  and  main  thoroughfares,  shining  through 
coloured  globes  upon  the  palace  terraces,  glimmering 
mysteriously  from  isolate  windows  and  balconies ;  and 
add  to  these  the  softly  illuminated  walls  of  a  hundred 
silken  state  marquees  and  a  thousand  meaner  canvas 
tents  arrayed  south  of  the  city.  .  .  .  And  that  is 
Kuttarpur  as  it  first  revealed  itself  to  Amber  and 
Sophia  Farrell. 

But  for  a  moment  were  they  permitted  to  gaze  in 
wonderment;  Ram  Nath  had  little  patience.  When 


208  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

he  chose  to,  he  applied  his  whip,  and  the  ponies  stretched 
out,  the  tonga  plunging  on  their  heels  down  the  steep 
hillside,  like  an  ungoverned,  ungovernable  thing,  mad- 
dened. Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  were  career- 
ing through  the  city  of  tents  on  the  parked  plain  before 
the  southern  wall.  In  five  minutes  more  they  drew  up 
at  the  main  city  gate  to  parley  with  the  Quarter 
Guard. 

Here  they  suffered  an  exasperating  delay.  It  ap- 
peared that  the  gates  were  shut  at  sundown,  in  defer- 
ence to  custom  immemorial.  Between  that  hour  and 
sunrise  none  were  permitted  to  pass  either  in  or  out 
without  the  express  sanction  of  the  State.  The  com- 
mander of  the  guard  instituted  an  impudent  catechism, 
in  response  to  which  Ram  Nath  discovered  the  several 
identities  and  estates  of  his  charges.  The  commander 
received  the  information  with  impartial  equanimity  and 
retired  within  the  city  to  confer  with  his  superiors. 
After  some  time  a  trooper  was  sent  to  advise  the  travel- 
lers that  the  tonga  would  be  permitted  to  enter  with  the 
understanding  that  the  unaccredited  Englishman 
(meaning  Amber)  would  consent  to  lodge  for  the  night 
in  no  other  spot  than  the  State  rest-house  beyond  the 
northern  limits  of  the  city. 

Amber  agreed.  The  trooper  saluted  with  much 
deference  and  withdrew.  And  for  a  long  time  nothing 
happened;  the  gates  remained  shut,  the  postern  of  the 
Quarter  Guard  irresponsive  to  Ram  Nath's  repeated 
summons.  His  passengers  endured  with  what  patience 
they  could  command ;  they  were  aware  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  obtain  from  some  quarter  official  sanction  for 


THE  LONG  DAY  209 

the  opening  of  the  gates,  but  they  had  understood  that 
it  had  already  been  obtained. 

Abruptly  the  peace  of  the  night  was  shattered,  and 
the  hum  of  the  encampment  behind  them  with  the  roar 
of  the  city  before  them  was  dwarfed,  by  a  dull  and 
thunderous  detonation  of  cannon  from  a  terrace  of  the 
palace.  The  tonga  ponies  reared  and  plunged,  Ram 
Nath  mastering  them  with  much  difficulty.  Sophia 
was  startled,  and  Amber  himself  stirred  uneaily  on  his 
perch. 

"  What  now  ?  "  he  grumbled.  "  You'd  think  we  were 
visitors  of  state  and  had  to  be  durbarred ! " 

Far  up  on  the  heights  a  second  red  flame  stabbed  the 
night,  and  again  the  thunder  pealed.  Thereafter  gun 
after  gun  bellowed  at  imperative,  stately  intervals. 

"  Fifteen,"  Amber  announced  after  a  time.  "  Isn't 
this  something  extraordinary,  Miss  Farrell?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  she  suggested,  "  there's  a  native  poten- 
tate arriving  at  the  northern  gate.  They're  very  punc- 
tilious about  their  salutes,  you  know." 

Another  crash  silenced  her.  Amber  continued  to 
count.  "  Twenty-one,"  he  said  when  it  seemed  that 
there  wa"s  to  be  no  more  cannonading.  "  Isn't  that  a 
royal  salute?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl ;  "  four  more  guns  than  the 
Maharana  of  Khandawar  himself  is  entitled  to." 

"  How  do  you  explain  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't,"  she  replied  simply.    "  Can  you  ?  " 

He  was  dumb.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  imperial 
greeting  was  intended  for  the  man  supposed  to  be  the 
Maharana  of  Khandawar — Har  Dyal  Rutton?  He 


210  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

glanced  sharply  at  the  girl,  but  her  face  was  shadowed ; 
and  he  believed  she  suspected  nothing. 

A  great  hush  had  fallen,  replacing  the  rolling  thun- 
der of  the  State  ordnance.  Even  the  voice  of  the  city 
seemed  moderate,  subdued.  In  silence  the  massive 
gates  studded  with  sharp-toothed  elephant-spikes  swung 
open. 

With  a  grunt,  Ram  Nath  cracked  his  whiplash  and 
the  tonga  sped  into  the  city.  Amber  bent  forward. 

'*  What's  the  name  of  that  gate,  Ram  Nath — if  you 
happen  to  know  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  the  tonga-wallah  in  a  level  voice,  "  is 
known  as  the  Gateway  of  Swords,  sahib."  He  added  in 
his  own  good  time :  "  But  not  the  Gateway  of  Swords." 

Amber  failed  to  educe  from  him  any  satisfactory  ex- 
planation of  this  orphic  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    PHOTOGRAPH 

THAT  same  night  Amber  dined  at  the  Residency,  on  the 
invitation  of  Raikes,  the  local  representative  of  Govern- 
ment, seconded  by  the  insistence  of  Colonel  Farrell.  It 
developed  that  Sophia's  telegram  had  somehow  been  lost 
in  transit,  and  Farrell's  surprise  and  pleasure  at  sight 
of  her  were  tempered  only  by  his  keen  appreciation  of 
Amber's  adventitious  services,  slight  though  they  had 
been.  He  was  urged  to  stay  the  evening  out,  before  pro- 
ceeding to  his  designated  quarters,  and  the  reluctance 
with  which  he  acceded  to  this  arrangement  which  worked 
so  happily  with  his  desires,  may  be  imagined. 

Their  arrival  coincided  with  the  dinner-hour;  the 
meal  was  held  half  an  hour  to  permit  them  to  dress. 
Raikes  put  a  room  at  Amber's  disposal,  and  the  Vir- 
ginian contrived  to  bathe  and  get  into  his  evening 
clothes  within  less  time  than  had  been  allowed  him. 
Sophia,  contrary  to  the  habit  of  her  sex,  was  little 
tardier.  At  thirty  minutes  past  eight  they  sat  down  to 
dine,  at  a  table  in  the  garden  of  the  Residency. 

Ease  of  anxiety  was  more  than  food  and  drink  to 
Amber ;  his  feeling  of  relief,  to  have  convoyed  Sophia 
to  the  company  and  protection  of  Anglo-Saxons  like 
himself,  was  intense.  Yet  he  swallowed  his  preliminary 
brandy-peg  in  a  distinctly  uncomfortable  frame  of 
mind,  strangely  troubled  by  the  reflection  that  round 

211 


212  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

that  lone  white  table  was  gathered  together  the  known 
white  population  of  the  State;  a  census  of  which  ac- 
counted for  just  five  souls. 

In  the  encompassing,  exotic  gloom  of  that  blue 
Indian  night — the  kind  of  night  that  never  seems 
friendly  to  the  Occidental  but  forever  teems  with  hints 
of  tragic  mystery — the  cloth,  lighted  by  shaded  candles, 
shone  as  immaculate  and  lustrous  as  an  island  of  snow 
in  a  sea  of  ink — as  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 
Its  punctilious  array  of  crystal  and  silver  was  no  more 
foreign  to  the  setting  than  were  the  men  who  sat  round 
it,  stiff  in  that  black-and-white  armour  of  civilisation, 
impregnable  against  the  insidious  ease  of  the  East,  in 
which  your  expatriate  Englishman  nightly  encases  him- 
self wherever  he  may  be,  as  loath  to  forego  the  ceremony 
of  "  dressing  for  dinner  "  as  he  would  be  to  dispense 
with  letters  from  Home. 

Raikes  presided,  a  heavy  man  with  the  flaming  red 
face  of  one  who  constitutionally  is  unable  to  tan ;  of  mid- 
dle-age, good-natured,  mellow,  adroit  of  manner.  On 
his  one  hand  sat  Amber,  over  across  from  Sophia.  Next 
to  Amber  sat  Farrell,  tall  and  lean,  sad  of  eye  and  slow 
of  speech,  his  sun-faded  hair  and  moustache  streaked 
with  grey  setting  off  a  dark  complexion  and  thin,  fine 
features.  He  wore  the  habit  of  authority  equally  with 
the  irascibility  of  one  who  temporizes  with  his  liver. 
Opposite  him  was  a  young,  mild-eyed  missionary,  too 
new  in  the  land  to  have  lost  his  illusions  or  have  blunted 
the  keen  edge  of  his  enthusiasms ;  a  colourless  person 
with  a  finical  way  of  handling  his  knife  and  fork,  who 
darted  continually  shy,  sidelong  glances  at  Sophia,  or 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  213 

interpolated  eager,  undigested  comments,  nervously  into 
the  conversation. 

The  table-talk  was  inconsequent ;  Amber  took  a  cour- 
teous and  easy  part  in  it  without  feeling  that  any  strain 
was  being  put  upon  his  intelligence.  His  attention  was 
centred  upon  the  woman  who  faced  him,  flushed  with 
gaiety  and  pleasure,  not  alone  because  she  was  once  more 
with  her  father,  but  also  because  she  unexpectedly  was 
looking  her  best.  If  she  had  been  well  suited  in  her 
tidy  pongee  travelling  costume,  she  found  her  evening 
gown  no  less  becoming.  It  was  a  black  affair,  very 
simple  and  individual;  her  shoulders  rose  from  it  with 
intensified  purity  of  tone,  like  fair  white  ivory  gleaming 
with  a  suggestion  of  the  sleek  sheen  of  satin ;  their 
strong,  clean  lines  rounded  bewitchingly  into  the  fair, 
slender  neck  upholding  the  young  head  with  its  deftly 
coiffed  crown  of  bronze  and  gold.  .  .  . 

Tall,  well-trained,  silent  servants  moved  like  white- 
robed  wraiths  behind  the  guests ;  the  dishes  of  the  many 
courses  disappeared  and  were  replaced  in  a  twinkling, 
as  if  by  slight  of  hand.  They  were  over  plentiful ;  Am- 
ber was  relieved  when  at  length  the  meal  was  over,  and 
Miss  Farrell  having  withdrawn  in  conformance  with 
inviolable  custom,  the  cloth  was  deftly  whisked  away 
and  cigars,  cigarettes,  liqueurs,  whiskey  and  soda  were 
served. 

Amber  took  unto  himself  a  cigar  and  utilised  an  ob- 
servation of  the  Political's  as  a  lever  to  swing  the  con- 
versation to  a  plane  more  likely  to  inform  him.  Far- 
rell had  grumbled  about  the  exactions  of  his  position  as 
particularly  instanced  by  the  necessity  of  his  attending 


214  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

tedious  and  tiresome  native  ceremonies  in  connection 
with  the  tamasha. 

"  What's,  precisely,  the  nature  of  this  tamasha, 
Colonel  Farrell?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  young  man,  I  thought  you  knew. 
Isn't  it  what  you  came  to  see?  " 

"  No,"  Amber  admitted  cautiously ;  "  I  merely  heard 
a  rumour  that  there  was  something  uncommon  afoot. 
Is  it  really  anything  worth  while?  " 

"Rather,"  Raikes  interjected  drily;  "the  present 
ruler's  abdicating  in  favour  of  his  son,  a  child  of 
twelve.  That  puts  the  business  in  a  class  by  itself." 

"  There's  been  one  precedent,  hasn't  there  ?  "  said  the 
missionary,  pretending  to  be  at  ease  with  a  cigarette. 
"  The  Holkar  of  Indore?  " 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Farrell ;  "  a  similar  case,  to  be 
sure." 

"  But  why  should  a  prince  hand  over  the  reins  of 
government  to  a  child  of  twelve?  There  must  be  some 
reason  for  it.  Isn't  it  known  ?  "  asked  Amber. 

"Who  can  fathom  a  Hindu's  mind?"  grunted  Far- 
rell. "  I  daresay  there's  some  scandalous  native  intrigue 
at  the  bottom  of  it.  Eh,  Raikes?  " 

The  Resident  shook  his  head.  "  Don't  come  to  this 
shop  for  information  about  what  goes  on  in  Khandawar. 
I  doubt  if  there's  another  Resident  in  India  who  knows 
as  little  of  the  underhand  devilment  in  his  State  as  I 
do.  His  Majesty  the  Rana  loves  me  as  a  cheetah  loves 
his  trainer.  He's  an  intractable  rascal." 

"  They  grease  the  wheels  of  the  independent  native 
States  with  intrigue,"  Farrell  explained.  "  I  know 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  215 

from  sore  experience.  And  your  Rajput  is  the  deepest 
of  the  lot.  I  don't  envy  Raikes,  here." 

"  The  man  who  can  guess  what  a  Rajput  intends  to 
do  next  is  entitled  to  give  himself  a  deal  of  credit," 
commented  the  Resident,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  I've  travelled  a  bit,"  continued  Farrell,  "  and  have 
seen  something  of  the  courts  of  Europe,  but  I've  yet 
to  meet  a  diplomat  who's  peer  to  the  Rajput.  You  hear 
a  great  deal  about  the  astuteness  of  the  Russians  and 
the  yellow  races,  and  a  Greek  or  Turk  can  lie  with 
a  fairly  straight  face  when  he  sees  a  profit  in  deception, 
but  none  of  them  is  to  be  classed  with  these  people.  If 
we  English  ever  decide  to  let  India  rule  herself,  her 
diplomatic  corps  will  be  recruited  exclusively  from  the 
flower  of  Rajputana's  chivalry." 

"  I'll  back  Salig  Singh  against  the  field,"  said  Raikes 
grimly ;  "  he'll  be  dean  of  the  corps,  when  that  time 
comes.  He'd  rather  conspire  than  fight,  and  the  Raj- 
puts— of  course  you  know — are  a  warrior  caste.  I've 
a  notion  " — the  Resident  leaned  back  and  searched  the 
shadows  for  an  eavesdropper — "  I've  a  notion,"  he  con- 
tinued, lowering  his  voice,  "  that  the  Rana  has  got  him- 
self in  rather  deep  in  some  rascality  or  other,  and  wants 
to  get  out  before  he's  put  out.  There's  bazaar  gossip. 
.  .  .  Hmm !  Do  you  speak  French,  Mr.  Amber  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  said  Amber  in  that  tongue.  "  And  I," 
nodded  the  missionary.  The  talk  continued  in  the  lan- 
guage of  diplomacy. 

"  Bazaar  gossip ?  "  Farrell  repeated  enquiringly. 

"  There  have  been  a  number  of  deaths  from  cholera 
in  the  Palace  lately,  the  grand  vizier's  amongst  them." 


216  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  White  arsenic  cholera  ?  " 

"  That,  and  the  hemp  poison  kind." 

"  Refractory  vizier  ?  "  questioned  Farrell.  "  The  kind 
that  wants  to  retrench  and  institute  reforms — railways 
and  metalled  roads  and  so  forth  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  was  quite  suited  to  his  master.  But  the 
bazaar  says  Naraini  took  a  dislike  to  him  for  one 
reason  or  another." 

"  Naraini?  "  queried  Amber. 

"  The  genius  of  the  place."  Raikes  nodded  toward 
the  Raj  Mahal,  shining  like  a  pearl  through  the  dark- 
ness on  the  hill-side  over  against  the  Residency.  "  She's 
Salig's  head  queen.  At  least  that's  about  as  near  to  her 
status  as  one  can  get.  She's  not  actually  his  queen, 
but  some  sort  of  a  heritage  from  the  Rutton  dynasty — 
I  hardly  know  what  or  why.  Salig  never  married  her, 
but  she  lives  in  the  Palace,  and  for  several  years — ever 
since  she  first  began  to  be  talked  about — she's  ruled 
from  behind  the  screen  with  a  high  hand  and  an  out- 
stretched arm.  So  the  bazaar  says." 

"  I've  heard  she  was  beautiful,"  Farrell  observed. 

"  As  beautiful  as  a  peri,  according  to  rumour.  You 
never  can  tell;  very  likely  she's  a  withered  old  hag; 
nine  out  of  ten  native  women  are,  by  the  time  they're 
thirty."  Raikes  jerked  the  glowing  end  of  his  cigar 
into  the  shrubbery  and  reverted  to  English.  "  Shall 
we  join  Miss  Farrell?  " 

They  arose  and  left  the  table  to  the  servants,  the 
Resident  with  Amber  following  Farrell  and  young 
Clarkson. 

"  Old  women  we  are,  forever  talking  scandal,"  said 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  217 

Raikes,  with  a  chuckle.  "  Oh,  well !  it's  shop  with  us, 
you  know." 

"  Of  course.  .  .  .  Then  I  understand  that  the  tam- 
asha  is  the  reason  for  the  encampment  beyond  the 
walls?" 

"  Yes ;  they've  been  coming  in  for  a  week.  By  to- 
morrow night,  I  daresay,  every  rajah,  prince,  thakur, 
baron,  fief,  and  lord  in  Rajputana,  each  with  his  '  tail,* 
horse  and  foot,  will  be  camped  down  before  the  walls  of 
Kuttarpur.  You've  chosen  an  interesting  time  for  your 
visit.  It'll  be  a  sight  worth  seeing,  when  they  begin 
to  make  a  show.  My  troubles  begin  with  a  State  ban- 
quet to-morrow  that  I'd  give  much  to  miss;  however, 
I'll  have  Farrell  for  company." 

"  I'm  glad  to  be  here,"  said  Amber  thoughtfully. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  the  proposed  abdication  of 
Salig  Singh  in  favour  of  his  son  were  merely  a  cloak 
to  a  conspiracy  to  restore  to  power  the  house  of  Rut- 
ton?  Or  had  the  tamasha  been  arranged  in  order  to 
gather  together  all  the  rulers  in  Rajputana  without 
exciting  suspicion,  that  they  might  agree  upon  a  con- 
certed plan  of  mutiny  against  the  Sirkar?  This  state 
affair  of  surpassing  importance  had  been  arranged  for 
the  last  day  of  grace  allotted  the  Prince  of  the  house 
of  Rutton.  What  had  it  to  do  with  the  Gateway  of 
Swords,  the  Voice,  the  Mind,  the  Eye,  the  Body,  the 
Bell? 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Raikes,"  said  the  Virginian  sud- 
denly, "  what  do  they  call  the  gate  by  which  we  entered 
the  city, — the  southern  gate  ?  " 

"  The  Gateway  of  Swords,  I  believe." 


218  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Farrell,  on  the  point  of  entering  the  house,  overheard 
and  turned.  "  Is  that  so  ?  Why,  I  thought  that  gate- 
way was  in  Kathiapur." 

"  I've  heard  of  a  Gateway  of  Swords  in  Kathiapur," 
Raikes  admitted.  "  Never  been  there,  myself." 

"Kathiapur?" 

"  A  dead  city,  Mr.  Amber,  not  far  away — originally 
the  capital  of  Khandawar.  It's  over  there  in  the  hills  to 
the  north,  somewhere.  Old  Rao  Rutton,  founder  of  the 
old  dynasty,  got  tired  of  the  place  and  caused  it  to  be 
depopulated,  building  Kuttarpur  in  its  stead — I  believe, 
to  commemorate  some  victory  or  other.  That  sort  of 
thing  used  to  be  quite  the  fashion  in  India,  before  we 
came."  Raikes  fell  back,  giving  Amber  precedence  as 
they  entered  the  Residency.  "  By  the  way,  remind  me, 
if  you  think  of  it,  Colonel  Farrell,  to  get  after  the 
telegraph-clerk  to-morrow.  There's  a  new  man  in 
charge — a  Bengali  babu — and  I  presume  he's  about  as 
worthless  as  the  run  of  his  kind." 

Amber  made  a  careful  note  of  this  information;  he 
was  curious  about  that  babu. 

In  the  drawing-room  Raikes  and  Farrell  impressed 
Clarkson  for  three-handed  Bridge.  Sophia  did  not  care 
to  play  and  Amber  was  ignorant  of  the  game — a  defect 
in  his  social  education  which  he  found  no  cause  to 
regret,  since  it  left  him  in  undisputed  attendance  upon 
the  girl. 

She  had  seated  herself  at  a  warped  and  discouraged 
piano,  for  which  Raikes  had  already  apologised ;  it  was, 
he  said,  a  legacy  from  a  former  Resident.  For  years  its 
yellow  keys  had  not  known  a  woman's  touch  such  as  that 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  219 

to  which  they  now  responded  with  thin,  cracked  voices ; 
the  girl's  fine,  slender  fingers  wrung  from  them  a  plain- 
tive, pathetic  parody  of  melody.  Amber  stood  over  her 
with  his  arms  folded  on  the  top  of  the  instrument,  com- 
fortably unconscious  that  his  pose  was  copied  from  any 
number  of  sentimental  photogravures  and  "  art  photo- 
graphs." His  temper  was  sentimental  enough,  for  that 
matter ;  the  woman  was  very  sweet  and  beautiful  in  his 
eyes  as  she  sat  with  her  white,  round  arms  flashing  over 
the  keyboard,  her  head  bowed  and  her  face  a  little 
averted,  the  long  lashes  low  upon  her  cheeks  and  tremu- 
lous with  a  fathomless  emotion.  It  was  his  thought  that 
his  time  was  momentarily  becoming  shorter,  and  that 
just  now,  more  than  ever,  she  was  very  distant  from  his 
arms,  something  inaccessible,  too  rare  and  delicate  and 
fine  for  the  rude  possession  of  him  who  sighed  for  his 
own  unworthiness. 

Abruptly  she  brought  both  hands  down  upon  the  keys, 
educing  a  jangled,  startled  crash  from  the  tortured 
wires,  and  swinging  round,  glanced  up  at  Amber  with 
quaint  mirth  trembling  behind  the  veil  of  moisture  in 
her  misty  eyes. 

"  India !  "  she  cried,  with  a  broken  laugh :  "  India 
epitomised:  a  homesick,  exiled  woman  trying  to  drag  a 
song  of  Home  from  the  broken  heart  of  a  crippled 
piano !  That  is  an  Englishwoman's  India :  it's  our  life, 
ever  to  strive  and  struggle  and  contrive  to  piece  to- 
gether out  of  makeshift  odds  and  ends  the  atmosphere 
of  Home !  .  .  .  It's  suffocating  in  here.  Come."  She 
rose  with  a  quick  shrug  of  impatience,  and  led  the  way 
back  to  the  gardens. 


220  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

The  table  had  been  removed  together  with  the  chairs 
and  candles ;  nothing  remained  to  remind  them  of  the  hour 
just  gone.  The  walks  were  clear  of  servants.  Their 
only  light  came  from  the  high  arch  of  stars  smitten 
to  its  zenith  with  pale,  quivering  waves  of  light  from 
the  moon  invisible  behind  the  hills.  Below  them  the  city 
hummed  like  a  disturbed  beehive.  Somewhere  afar  a 
gentle  hand  was  sweeping  the  strings  of  a  zitar,  sound- 
ing weird,  sad  chords.  The  perfumed  languor  of  the 
night  weighed  heavily  upon  the  senses,  like  the  woven 
witchery  of  some  age-old  enchantment.  .  ... 

Pensive,  the  girl  trained  her  long  skirts  heedlessly 
over  the  dew-drenched  grasses,  Amber  at  her  side,  him- 
self speechless  with  an  intangible,  ineluctable,  unreason- 
ing sense  of  expectancy.  Never,  he  told  himself,  had  a 
lover's  hour  been  more  auspiciously  timed  or  staged; 
and  this  was  his  hour,  altogether  his !  ...  If  only  he 
might  find  the  words  of  wooing  to  which  his  lips  were 
strange!  He  dared  not  delay;  to-morrow  it  might  be 
too  late ;  in  the  womb  of  the  morrow  a  world  of  chances 
stirred — contingencies  that  might  in  a  breath  set  them  a 
world  apart. 

They  found  seats  in  the  shadow  of  a  pepul. 

"  You  must  be  tired,  Mr.  Amber,"  she  said.  "  Why 
don't  you  smoke?  " 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it,  and  hadn't  asked  per- 
mission." 

"  Please  do.     I  like  it." 

He  found  his  cigarette-case  and  struck  a  match, 
Sophia  watching  intently  his  face  in  the  rosy  glow  of 
the  little,  flickering  flame. 


Copyright.  I'JUfl,  l>y  Dudd,  Mead  A  Company 


THE   WOMAN   WAS   VERY   SWEET   AND   BEAUTIFUL  IN   HIS  EYES 
AS    SHE    SAT    WITH    HER    WHITE,     ROUND    ARMS 
FLASHING  OVER  THE  KEYBOARD  " 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH 

"  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in  protracted 
silences?  "  she  rallied  him  gently.  "  Between  friends  of 
old  standing  they're  permissible,  I  believe,  but " 

"  A  day's  j  ourney  by  tonga  matures  acquaintance- 
ships wonderfully,"  he  observed  abstrusely. 

"  Indeed?  "     She  laughed. 

"  At  least,  I  hope  so." 

He  felt  that  he  must  be  making  progress;  thus  far 
he  had  been  no  less  inane  than  any  average  lover  of  the 
stage  or  fiction.  And  he  wondered:  was  she  laughing 
at  him,  softly,  there  in  the  shadows? 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  amused  at  his  relapse  into  rev- 
erie, "  you're  incurable  and  ungrateful.  I'm  trying  my 
best  to  be  attractive  and  interesting,  and  you  won't  pay 
me  any  attention  whatever.  There  must  be  something 
on  your  mind.  Is  it  this  mysterious  errand  that  brings 
you  so  unexpectedly  to  India — to  Kuttarpur,  Mr. 
Amber?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  truthfully. 

"  And  you  won't  tell  me?  " 

"  I  think  I  must,"  he  said,  bending  forward. 

There  sounded  a  stealthy  rustling  in  the  shrubbery- 
The  girl  drew  away  and  rose  with  a  startled  exclama- 
tion. With  a  bound,  a  man  in  native  dress  sped  from 
the  shadows  and  paused  before  them,  panting. 

Amber  jumped  up,  overturning  his  chair,  and  in- 
stinctively feeling  for  the  pistol  that  was  with  his 
travelling  things,  upstairs  in  the  Residency. 

The  native  reassured  him  with  a  swift,  obsequious 
gesture.  "  Pardon,  sahib,  and  yours,  sahiba,  if  I 
have  alarmed  you,  but  I  am  come  on  an  errand  of 


THE  BRONZE  BELL 

haste,  seeking  him  who  is  known  as  the  Sahib  David 
Amber." 

"  I  am  he.    What  do  you  want  with  me?  " 

"  It  is  only  this,  that  I  have  been  commissioned  to  bear 
to  you,  sahib." 

The  man  fumbled  hurriedly  in  the  folds  of  his  sur- 
tout,  darting  quick  glances  of  apprehension  round  the 
garden.  Amber  looked  him  over  as  closely  as  he  could 
in  the  dim  light,  but  found  him  wholly  a  stranger 
— merely  a  low-caste  Hindu,  counterpart  of  a  million 
others  to  be  encountered  daily  in  the  highways  and 
bazaars  of  India.  The  Virginian's  rising  hope  that  he 
might  prove  to  be  Labertouche  failed  for  want  of  en- 
couragement ;  the  intruder  was  of  a  stature  the  English- 
man could  by  no  means  have  counterfeited. 

"From  whom  come  you?"  he  demanded  in  the 
vernacular. 

"Nay,  a  name  that  is  unspoken  harms  none,  sahib." 
The  native  produced  a  small,  thin,  flat  package  and 
thrust  it  into  Amber's  hands.  "  With  permission,  I  go, 
sahib ;  it  were  unwise  to  linger " 

"  There  is  no  answer  ?  " 

"  None,  sahib."  The  man  salaamed  and  strode  away, 
seeming  to  melt  soundlessly  into  the  foliage. 

For  a  minute  Amber  remained  astare.  The  girl's 
voice  alone  roused  him. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  very  interesting  person,  Mr.  Am- 
ber," she  said,  resuming  her  chair. 

"  Well !  .  .  .  7  begin  to  think  this  a  most  uncom- 
monly interesting  country."  He  laughed  uncertainly, 
turning  the  package  over  and  over.  "  Upon  mj 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  223 

word !  I  haven't  the  least  notion  what  this  can 

be!" 

"  Why  not  bring  it  to  the  light,  and  find  out?  " 

He  assented  meekly,  having  been  perfectly  candid  in 
his  assertion  that  he  had  no  suspicion  of  what  the  packet 
might  contain,  and  a  moment  later  they  stood  beneath 
the  window  of  the  Residency,  from  which  a  broad  shaft 
of  light  streamed  out  like  vaporised  gold. 

Amber  held  the  packet  to  the  light;  it  was  oblong, 
thin,  stiff,  covered  with  common  paper,  guiltless  of 
superscription,  and  sealed  with  mucilage.  He  tore  the 
covering,  withdrew  the  enclosure,  and  heard  the  girl 
gasp  with  surprise.  For  himself,  he  was  transfixed  with 
consternation.  His  look  wavered  in  dismay  between 
the  girl  and  the  photograph  in  his  hand — Tier  photo- 
graph, which  had  been  stolen  from  him  aboard  the 
Poonah. 

She  extended  her  hand  imperiously.  "  Give  that  to 
me,  please,  Mr.  Amber,"  she  insisted.  He  surrendered 
it  without  a  word.  "  Mr.  Amber !  "  she  cried  in  a  voice 
that  quivered  with  wonder  and  resentment. 

He  faced  her  with  a  hang-dog  air,  feeling  that  now 
indeed  had  his  case  been  made  hopeless  by  this  con- 
tretemps. "  Confound  Labertouche !  "  he  cried  in  his 
ungrateful  heart.  "  Confound  his  meddling  mystery- 
mongering  and  hokus-pokus !  " 

"  Well?  "  enquired  the  girl  sharply. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Farrell."  He  could  invent  nothing  else 
to  say. 

"  You — you  are  going  to  explain,  I  presume." 

He  shook  his  head  in  despair.    "  No-o   ..." 


5224  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  What ! " 

"  I've  no  explanation  whatever  to  make — that'd  be 
adequate,  I  mean." 

He  saw  that  she  was  shaken  by  impatience.  "  I 
think,"  said  she  evenly — "  I  think  you  will  find  it 
best  to  let  me  judge  of  that.  This  is  my  photograph. 
How  do  you  come  to  have  it?  What  right  have  you 
to  it?" 

"  I  .  .  .  ah  .  .  . "  He  stammered  and  paused, 
acutely  conscious  of  the  voices  of  the  Englishmen,  Far- 
rell,  Raikes,  and  young  Clarkson,  drifting  out  through 
the  open  window  of  the  drawing-room.  "  If  you'll  be 
kind  enough  to  return  to  our  chairs,"  he  said,  "  I'll  try 
to  make  a  satisfactory  explanation.  I'd  rather  not  be 
overheard." 

The  girl  doubted,  was  strongly  inclined  to  refuse 
him;  then,  perhaps  moved  to  compassion  by  his  abject 
Attitude,  she  relented  and  agreed.  "  Very  well,"  she 
said,  and  retaining  the  picture  moved  swiftly  before  him 
into  the  shadowed  garden.  He  lagged  after  her,  in- 
venting a  hundred  impracticable  yarns.  She  found  her 
chair  and  sat  down  with  a  manner  of  hauteur  moderated 
by  expectancy.  He  took  his  place  beside  her. 

"  Who  sent  you  this  photograph  of  me?  "  she  began 
to  cross-examine  him. 

"  A  friend." 

"His  name?" 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  tell  you  just  now." 

"Oh!   .    .    .   Why  did  he  send  it?"  - 

"  Because  ..."  In  his  desperation  it  occurred 
to  him  to  tell  the  truth — as  much  of  it,  at  least,  as  his 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  225 

word  to  Rutton  would  permit.  "  Because  it's  mine. 
My  friend  knew  I  had  lost  it." 

"  How  could  it  have  been  yours?  It  was  taken  in 
London  a  year  ago.  I  sent  copies  only  to  personal 
friends  who,  I  know,  would  not  give  them  away."  She 
thought  it  over  and  added :  "  The  Quains  had  no  copy ; 
it's  quite  impossible  that  one  should  have  got  to 
America." 

"  None  the  less,"  he  maintained  stubbornly,  "  it's 
mine,  and  I  got  it  in  America." 

"  I  can  hardly  be  expected  to  believe  that." 

"  I'm  sorry." 

"  You  persist  in  saying  that  you  got  it  in 
America?  " 

"  I  must." 

"When?" 

"  After  you  left  the  Quains." 

"  How  ?  "  she  propounded  triumphantly. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  except  vaguely.  If  you'll  be  con- 
tent with  the  substance  of  the  story,  lacking  details,  for 
the  present " 

"  For  the  present?  You  mean  you'll  tell  me  the 
whole  truth — ?" 

"  Sometime,  yes.  But  now,  I  may  not.  ...  A 
dear  friend  of  mine  owned  the  photograph.  He  gave 
it  me  at  my  request.  I  came  to  India,  and  on  the 
steamer  lost  it ;  in  spite  of  my  offer  of  a  reward,  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  boat  without  it,  when  we  got  to  Cal- 
cutta. My  friend  here  knew  how  highly  I  ralued 
it " 

"  Why?  " 


226  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Because  I'd  told  him." 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  Why  do  you  value  it  so 
highly?" 

"  Because  of  its  original."  He  took  heart  of  despair 
and  plunged  boldly. 

She  looked  him  over  calmly.  "  Do  you  mean  me 
to  understand  that  you  told  this  friend  you  had 
followed  me  to  India  because  you  were  in  love  with 
me?" 

"  Precisely.    .    .    .   Thank  you." 

She  laughed  a  little,  mockingly.  "  Are  you,  Mr. 
Amber?  " 

"  In  love  with  you  ?   .    .    .   Yes." 

"Oh!"  She  maintained  her  impartial  and  judicial 
attitude  admirably.  "  But  even  were  I  inclined  to  be- 
lieve that,  your  whole  story  is  discredited  by  the  simple 
fact  that  through  no  combination  of  circumstances 
could  this  picture  have  come  into  your  possession  in 
America." 

"  I  give  you  ,my  word  of  honor,  Miss  Far- 
rell." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't.  If  you  are  perfectly  sincere 
in  asserting  that,  you  force  me  to  think  you : 

"  Mad?  I'm  not,  really,"  he  argued  earnestly.  "  It's 
quite  true." 

"  No."  She  shook  her  head  positively.  "  You  say 
you  obtained  it  from  a  man,  which  can't  be  so.  There 
were  only  a  dozen  prints  made;  four  I  gave  to  women 
friends  in  England  and  seven  I  sent  to  people  out  here. 
The  other  one  I  have." 

"  I  can  only  repeat  what  I  have  already  told  you. 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH 

There  are  gaps  in  the  story,  I  know — incredible  gaps ; 
they  can't  be  bridged,  just  now.  I  beg  you  to  believe 
me." 

"  And  how  soon  will  you  be  free  to  tell  me  the  whole 
truth?" 

"  Only  after   .    .    .   we're  married." 

She  laughed  adorably.  "  Mr.  Amber,"  she  protested, 
"  you  are  dangerous — you  are  delightful !  Do  you 
really  believe  I  shall  ever  marry  you?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  I  came  to  India  to  ask  you — to  use 
every  means  in  my  power  to  make  you  marry  me.  You 
see,  I  love  you." 

"  And  .  .  .  and  when  is  this  to  happen,  please — 
in  the  name  of  impudence  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  persuade  you — to-night,  if  you 
will." 

"Oh!" 

He  was  obliged  to  laugh  with  her  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  suggestion.  "  Or  to-morrow  morning,  at  the  very 
latest,"  he  amended  seriously.  "  I  don't  think  we  dare 
wait  longer." 

"  Why  is  that?  " 

"  Delays  are  perilous.  There  might  be  another 
chap." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  there  isn't  already  ?  " 

He  fell  sober  enough  at  this.  "  But  there  isn't,  is 
there,  really  ?  " 

She  delayed  her  reply  provokingly.  At  length,  *'  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  say,"  she  observed,  "  but  I  don't 
mind  telling  you — no,  there  isn't — yet."  And  as  she 
spoke,  Farrell  called  "Sophia?"  from  the  window  of 


228  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  drawing-room.  She  stood  up,  answering  clearly 
with  the  assurance  that  she  was  coming,  and  began 
deliberately  to  move  toward  the  house. 

Amber  followed,  deeply  anxious.  "  I've  not  offended 
you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  told  him  gravely,  "  but  you  have  both 
puzzled  and  mystified  me.  I  shall  have  to  sleep  on  this 
before  I  can  make  up  my  mind  whether  or  not  to  be 
offended." 

"  And   .    .    .   will  you  marry  me?  " 

"  Oh,  dear !     How  do  I  know  ?  "  she  laughed. 

"  You  won't  give  me  a  hint  as  to  the  complexion  of 
my  chances  ?  " 

She  paused,  turning.  "  The  chances,  Mr.  Amber," 
she  said  without  affection  or  coquetry,  "  are  all  in  your 
favour  .  .  .if  you  can  prove  your  case.  I  do  like 
you  very  much,  and  you  have  been  successful  in  rousing 
my  interest  in  you  to  an  astonishing  degree.  .  .  . 
But  I  shall  have  to  think  it  over;  you  must  allow  me 
at  least  twelve  hours'  grace." 

"  You'll  let  me  know  to-morrow  morning?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Early?" 

"  You've  already  been  bidden  to  breakfast  by  Mr. 
Raikes." 

"  Meanwhile,  may  I  have  my  photograph?  " 

"  Mine,  if  you  please !  .  .  .  I  think  not ;  if  my 
decision  is  favourable,  you  shall  have  it  back — after 
breakfast." 

'*  Thank  you,"  he  said  meekly.  And  as  they  were 
entering  the  Residency  he  hung  back.  "  I'm  going 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH  229 

now,"  he  said ;  "  it's  good-night.  Will  you  remember 
you've  not  refused  me  the  privilege  of  hoping?  " 

"  I've  told  you  I  like  you,  Mr.  Amber."  Impulsively 
she  extended  her  hand.  "  Good-night." 

He  bowed  and  put  his  lips  to  it;  and  she  did  not 
resist. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OVER    THE    WATER 

RAM  NATH,  patient  and  impassive  as  ever,  had  the 
tonga  waiting  for  Amber  before  the  Residency.  Ex- 
alted beyond  words,  the  American  permitted  himself  to 
be  driven  off  through  Kuttarpur's  intricate  network  of 
streets  and  backways,  toward  a  destination  of  which 
he  knew  as  little  as  he  cared.  He  was  a  guest  of  the 
State,  officially  domiciled  at  the  designated  house  of 
hospitality;  without  especial  permission,  obtained 
through  the  efforts  of  the  Resident,  he  could  sleep  in 
no  other  spot  in  the  city  or  its  purlieus.  He  was  in- 
different, absolutely ;  the  matter  interested  him  as  scant- 
ily— which  is  to  say  not  at  all — as  did  the  fact  that  an 
esccrt  of  troopers  of  the  State,  very  well  accoutred  and 
disciplined,  followed  the  tonga  with  a  great  jangling 
of  steel  and  tumult  of  hoofs. 

He  was  in  that  condition  of  semi-daze  which  is  the 
not  extraordinary  portion  of  a  declared  lover  revelling 
in  the  memory  of  his  mistress's  eyes,  whose  parting 
look  has  not  been  unkind.  Upon  that  glance  of 
secret  understanding,  signalled  to  him  frem  eyes  as 
brown  as  beautiful,  he  was  building  him  a  palace  of 
dreams  so  strange,  so  sweet,  that  the  mere  contemplation 
of  its  unsubstantial  loveliness  filled  him  with  an  exquisite 
agony  of  hope,  a  poignant  ecstasy  of  despair.  It  was 

330 


OVER  THE  WATER  231 

too  much  to  hope  for,  that  she  should  smile  upon  him 
in  the  morning.  .  .  .  Yet  he  hoped. 

Unconscious  of  the  passage  of  time,  he  was  roused 
only  by  the  pausing  of  the  tonga  and  its  escort  before 
the  Gateway  of  the  Elephants — the  main  octroi  gate 
in  the  northern  wall  of  the  city.  There  ensued  a  brief 
interchange  of  formalities  between  the  sergeant  of  his 
escort  and  the  captain  of  the  Quarter  Guard.  Then  the 
tonga  was  permitted  to  pass  out,  and  for  five  minutes 
rattled  and  clattered  along  the  border  of  the  lake,  stop- 
ping finally  at  the  rest-house. 

Alighting  in  the  compound,  Amber  disbursed  a  few 
rupees  to  the  troopers,  paid  off  Ram  Nath — who  was 
swift  to  drive  off  city-wards,  in  mad  haste  lest  the 
gates  be  shut  upon  him  for  the  night — and  entered  the 
bungalow.  An  aged,  talkative,  and  amiable  khansamah 
met  him  at  the  threshold  with  expressions  of  exaggerated 
respect,  no  doubt  genuine  enough,  and  followed  him, 
a  mumbling  shadow,  as  the  Virginian  made  a  brief  round 
of  inspection. 

Standing  between  the  road  and  the  water,  the  rest- 
house  proved  to  be  moderately  spacious  and  clean; 
on  the  lake-front  it  opened  upon  a  marble  bund,  or 
landing-stage,  its  lip  lapped  by  whispering  ripples  of 
the  lake.  Amber  went  out  upon  this  to  discover,  sepa- 
rated from  him  by  little  more  than  half  a  mile  of  black 
water,  the  ghostly  white  walls  of  the  Raj  Mahal  climbing 
in  dim  majesty  to  the  stars.  A  single  line  of  white  lights 
outlined  the  topmost  parapet ;  at  the  water's  edge  a 
single  marble  entrance  was  aglow;  between  the  two, 
towers  and  terraces,  hanging  gardens  and  white  scarp- 


232  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

like  walls  rose  in  darkened  confusion  unimaginable — 
or,  rather,  fell  like  a  cascade  of  architecture,  down 
the  hillside  to  the  lake.  A  dark  hive  teeming  with 
the  occult  life  of  unnumbered  men  and  women — Salig 
Singh  the  inscrutable  and  strong,  Naraini  the  mysteri- 
ous, whose  loveliness  lived  a  fable  in  the  land,  and  how 
many  thousand  others — living  and  dying,  working  and 
idling,  in  joy  and  sadness,  in  hatred  and  love,  weaving 
forever  that  myriad-stranded  web  of  intrigue  which  is 
the  life  of  native  palaces  .  .  . 

The  Virginian  remained  long  in  rapt  wondering  con- 
templation of  it,  until  the  wind  blowing  across  the  waters 
had  chilled  him  to  the  point  of  shivering;  when  he 
turned  indoors  to  his  bed.  But  he  was  to  have 
little  rest  that  night.  The  khansamah  who  attended 
him  had  hardly  turned  low  his  light  when  Amber  was 
disturbed  by  the  noise  of  an  angry  altercation  in  the 
compound.  He  arose  and  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers 
went  to  investigate,  and  found  Ram  Nath  in  violent 
dispute  with  the  sergeant  of  the  escort — which,  it  ap- 
peared, had  builded  a  fire  and  camped  round  it  in  the 
compound:  a  circumstance  which  furnished  food  for 
thought. 

Amber  began  to  suspect  that  the  troops  had  been 
furnished  as  a  guard  less  of  honour  than  of  espionage, 
less  in  formal  courtesy  than  in  demonstration  of  the 
unsleeping  vigilance  of  the  Eye — kindly  assisted  by  the 
Maharana  of  Khandawar. 

A  man  who,  warmed  by  the  ardour  of  his  first  love, 
feels  suddenly  the  shadow  of  death  falling  cold  upon 
him,  is  apt  to  neglect  nothing.  Amber  considered  that 


OVER  THE  WATER  233- 

he  had  given  Ram  Nath  no  commission  of  any  sort,  and 
bent  an  attentive  ear  to  the  communication  which  the 
tonga-wallah  insisted  upon  making  to  him. 

Ram  Nath  had  returned,  he  asserted,  solely  for  the 
purpose  of  informing  Amber  in  accordance  with  his  de- 
sires. "  The  telegraph-office  for  which  you  enquired, 
sahib,  stands  just  within  the  Gateway  of  the  Elephants," 
he  announced.  "  The  telegraph-babu  will  be  on  duty 
very  early  in  the  morning,  should  you  desire  still  to  send 
the  message." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Amber  indifferently.  "  I'd  forgotten. 
Thanks." 

He  returned  to  his  charpoy  with  spirits  considerably 
higher.  Ram  Nath  had  not  winked  this  time,  but  the 
fact  was  indisputable  that  Amber  had  not  expressed 
any  interest  whatever  in  the  location  of  the  telegraph- 
office. 

Wondering  if  the  telegraph-babu  by  any  chance  wore 
pink  satin,  he  dozed  off  on  the  decision  that  he  would 
need  to  send  a  message  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

Some  time  later  he  was  a  second  time  awakened  by 
further  disputation  in  the  compound.  The  troopers 
were  squabbling  amongst  themselves ;  he  was  able  to 
make  this  much  out  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  sepoys, 
recruited  exclusively  from  the  native  population  of 
'Khandawar,  spoke  a  patois  of  Hindi  so  corrupt  that 
even  an  expert  in  Oriental  languages  would  experience 
difficulty  in  trying  to  interpret  it.  Amber  did  not 
weary  himself  with  the  task,  but  presently  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  demanded  silence,  desiring  to  be  informed  if 
his  sleep  was  to  be  continually  broken  by  the  bickerings 


234  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

of  sons  of  mothers  without  noses.  There  followed  in- 
stantaneous silence,  broken  by  a  chuckle  and  an  ap- 
plausive "  Shabash !  "  and  nothing  more. 

Amber  snuggled  down  again  upon  his  pillow  and 
soothed  himself  with  the  feel  of  the  pistol  that  his  fingers 
grasped  beneath  the  clothes. 

A  bar  of  moonlight  slipped  through  the  blinds  and 
fell  athwart  his  eyes.  He  cursed  it  bitterly  and  got  up 
and  moved  his  charpoy  into  shadow.  The  sibilant  lisp- 
ing of  the  wavelets  against  the  bund  sang  him  softly 
toward  oblivion  .  .  .  and  a  convention  of  water-fowl 
went  into  stormy  executive  session  out  in  the  middle  of 
the  lake.  This  had  to  be  endured,  and  in  time  Amber's 
senses  grew  numb  to  the  racket  and  he  dropped  off  into 
a  fitful  doze.  .  .  . 

Footfalls  and  hushed  voices  in  the  bungalow  were 
responsible  for  the  next  interruption.  Amber  came  to 
with  a  start  and  found  himself  sitting  up  on  the  edge 
of  the  charpoy,  with  a  dreamy  impression  that  two  peo- 
ple had  been  standing  over  him  and  had  just  left  the 
room,  escaping  by  way  of  the  khansamah's  quarters. 
He  rubbed  the  sleep  from  his  eyes  and  went  out  to 
remonstrate  vigorously  with  the  khansamah.  The  lat- 
ter naturally  professed  complete  ignorance  of  the  visi- 
tation and  dwelt  with  such  insistence  upon  the  plausi- 
bility of  dreams  that  Amber  lost  patience  and  kicked 
him  grievously,  so  that  he  complained  with  a  loud  voice 
and  cast  himself  at  the  sahib's  feet,  declaring  that  he 
was  but  as  the  dust  beneath  them  and  that  Amber  was 
his  father  and  mother  and  the  light  of  the  Universe 
besides.  In  short,  he  raised  such  a  rumpus  that  some 


OVER  THE  WATER  235 

of  the  sepoys  came  in  to  investigate  and — went  out 
again,  hastily,  to  testify  to  their  fellows  that  the  hazoor 
was  a  man  of  fluent  wrath,  surprisingly  versed  in  the 
art  and  practice  of  abuse. 

Somewhat  mollified  and  reflecting,  at  the  same  time, 
that  this  was  all  but  a  part  of  the  game,  to  be  expected 
by  those  who  patronise  rest-houses  off  the  beaten  roads 
of  travel,  the  Virginian  returned  to  his  charpoy  and 
immediately  lapsed  into  a  singularly  disquieting  dream. 
.  .  .  He  was  strolling  by  the  border  of  the  lake  when 
a  coot  swam  in  and  hailed  him  in  English ;  and  when  he 
stopped  to  look  the  coot  lifted  an  A.  D.  T.  messenger- 
boy's  cap  and  pleaded  with  him  to  sign  his  name  in  a 
little  black  book,  promising  that,  if  he  did  so,  it  would 
be  free  to  doff  its  disguise  and  be  Labertouche  again. 
So  Amber  signed  "  Pink  Satin  "  in  the  book  and  the 
coot  stood  up  and  said,  "  I'm  not  Labertouche  at  all, 
but  Ram  Nath,  and  Ram  Nath  is  only  another  name 
for  Har  Dyal  Rutton,  and  besides  you  had  better  come 
away  at  once,  for  the  Eye  thou  dost  wear  upon  thy 
finger  never  sleeps  and  it's  only  a  paste  Token  any- 
way." Hearing  which,  Amber  caught  the  coot  by  the 
leg  and  found  that  he  had  grasped  the  arm  of  Salig 
Singh,  whose  eyes  were  both  monstrous  emeralds  without 
any  whites  whatever.  And  Salig  Singh  tapped  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  began  to  say  over  and  over  again  in  a 
whisper  .  .  . 

But  here  Amber  another  time  found  himself  wide 
awake  and  sitting  up,  his  left  hand  gripping  the  wrist 
of  a  native  and  his  right  holding  his  pistol  steadily 
levelled  at  the  native's  breast.  While  the  voice  he  heard 


236  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

was  real  and  no  figment  of  a  dream-mused  imagination ; 
for  the  man  was  whispering  earnestly  and  repeatedly: 

"  Hasten,  hazoor,  for  the  night  doth  wane  and  the 
hour  is  at  hand." 

"  What  deviltry's  this  ?  "  Amber  demanded  sharply, 
with  a  threatening  gesture. 

But  the  native  neither  attempted  to  free  himself  nor 
to  evade  the  pistol's  mouth.  "  Have  patience,  hazoor," 
he  begged  earnestly,  "  and  make  no  disturbance.  It  is 
late  and  the  sepoys  sleep;  if  you  will  be  circumspect 
and  are  not  afraid " 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  I  was  to  say,  *  I  come  from  you  know  whom,' 
hazoor." 

"  That  all?  " 

"  In  the  matter  of  a  certain  photograph,  hazoor." 

"  By  thunder  t  "  Labertouche's  name  was  on  Amber's 
lips,  but  he  repressed  it.  "  Wait  a  bit."  He  gulped 
down  the  last  dregs  of  sleep.  "  Let  me  think  and — see." 

This  last  was  an  afterthought.  As  it  came  to  him 
he  dropped  the  pistol  by  his  side  and  felt  for  matches  in 
the  pocket  of  his  coat,  which  hung  over  the  back  of  a 
bedside  'chair.  Finding  one,  he  struck  it  noiselessly  and, 
as  the  tiny  flame  broadened,  drew  his  captive  nearer. 

It  was  a  fat,  mean,  wicked  face  that  stood  out  against 
the  darkness:  an  ochre-tinted  face  with  a  wide,  loose- 
lipped  mouth  and  protruding  eyes  that  blinked  nerv- 
ously into  his.  But  he  had  never  seen  it  before. 

"Who  are  you?"  He  cast  away  the  match  as  its 
flame  died  and  snatched  up  his  weapon. 

"  I  was  to  say " 


OVER  THE  WATER  237 

"I  heard  that  once.     What's  your  name?" 

"  Dulla  Dad,  hazoor." 

"  And  who  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  Hazoor,  I  was  not  to  say." 

"  I  think  you'd  better,"  suggested  Amber,  with  grim 
significance. 

"  I  am  the  hazoor's  slave.    I  dare  not  say." 

"  Now  look  here " 

"  Hazoor,  it  was  charged  upon  me  to  say,  *  /  come 
from  you  know  whom.' ' 

"  The  devil  it  was.    .    .    .   Well,  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  I  was  to  say,  *  Hasten,  hazoor,  for  the  night " 

"  I've  heard  that,  too.  You  mean  you're  to  lead  me 
to  somebody,  somewhere — you  can't  say  where?  " 

"  Aye,  hazoor,  even  so." 

"  Get  over  there,  in  the  corner,  while  I  think  this 
over — and  don't  move  or  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  a 
nice  young  bullet,  Dulla  Dad." 

"  That  is  as  Allah  wills ;  only  remember,  hazoor,  the 
injunction  for  haste." 

The  man,  a  small  stunted  Mohammedan,  sidled  fear- 
somely  over  to  the  spot  indicated  and  waited  there, 
cringing  and  supplicating  Amber  with  eloquent  ges- 
tures. The  Virginian  watched  him  closely  until  com- 
forted by  the  reflection  that,  had  murder  been  the 
object,  he  had  been  a  dead  man  long  since.  Then  he 
put  aside  the  revolver  and  began  to  dress. 

"  Only  Labertouche  would  have  to  communicate  with 
me  by  such  stealth,"  he  considered.  "Besides,  that 
reference  to  the  photograph " 

He  slipped  hurriedly  into  his  clothing  and  ostenta- 


238  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

tiously  dropped  the  pistol  into  his  right-hand  coat- 
pocket.  "  I'm  ready,"  he  told  the  man.  "  Lead  the 
way;  and  remember,  if  there's  any  treachery  afoot, 
you'll  be  the  first  to  suffer  for  it,  Dulla  Dad." 

The  Mohammedan  bowed  submissively.  "  Be  it  so,  my 
lord,"  he  said  in  Hindi,  and,  moving  noiselessly  with 
unshod  feet,  glided  through  the  door  which  opened  upon 
the  bund,  Amber  close  behind  him. 

That  it  was  indeed  late  was  shown  by  the  position  of 
the  moon ;  and  the  sweet  freshness  of  early  morning  was 
strong  in  the  keen  air.  The  wind  had  failed  and  the 
lake  stretched  flawless  from  shore  to  shore,  a  sheet  of 
untarnished  silver.  Over  against  them  the  palace  slept, 
or  seemed  to  sleep,  in  its  miraculous  beauty,  glacier- 
like  with  its  shining  surfaces  and  deep,  purple- 
shadowed  crevasses.  There  were  few  lights  visible  in 
the  city,  and  the  quiet  of  it  was  notable;  so  likewise 
with  the  wards  outside  the  walls  and  the  lakeside  palaces 
and  villas.  Only  in  a  distant  temple  a  drum  was  throb- 
bing, throbbing. 

In  the  water  at  their  feet  a  light  boat  was  gently 
nosing  the  marble  bund.  Dulla  Dad,  squatting,  drew 
it  broadside  to  the  steps  and  motioned  Amber  to  enter. 
The  Virginian  ^boarded  it  gingerly,  seating  himself  at 
the  stern.  Dulla  Dad  dropped  in  forward  and  pushed 
off.  The  boat  moved  out  upon  the  bosom  of  the  lake 
with  scarce  a  sound,  and  the  native,  grasping  a  double- 
bladed  paddle,  dipped  it  gently  and  sent  the  frail  craft 
flying  onward  with  long,  swift,  and  powerful  strokes, 
guiding  it  directly  toward  the  walls  of  the  Raj 
Mahal. 


OVER  THE  WATER  239 

Two-thirds  of  the  way  across  the  Virginian  sur- 
rendered to  his  mistrust  and  drew  his  pistol.  "  Dulla 
Dad,"  he  said  gently ;  and  the  man  ceased  paddling  with 

a  shudder "  Dulla  Dad,  you're  taking  me  to  the 

palace." 

"Yea,  hazoor;  that  is  true,"  the  native  answered, 
his  voice  quavering. 

"  Who  awaits  me  there?    Answer  quickly !  " 

"  Hazoor,  it  is  not  wise  to  speak  a  name  upon  the 
water,  where  voices  travel  far." 

"Dulla  Dad!" 

"  Hazoor,  I  may  not  say !  " 

"I  think,  Dulla  Dad,  you'd  better.  If  I  lose 
patience " 

"  Upon  my  head  be  your  safety,  hazoor !  See,  you 
can  fire,  and  thereafter  naught  can  trouble  me.  But 
I,  with  a  single  sweep  of  this  paddle,  can  overturn  us. 
Be  content,  hazoor,  for  a  little  time;  then  shall  you 
see  that  naught  of  harm  is  intended.  My  life  be  forfeit 
if  I  speak  not  truth,  hazoor !  " 

"  You  have  said  it," '  said  Amber  grimly,  "  Row 
on."  After  all,  he  considered,  it  might  still  be  Laber- 
touche.  At  first  blush  it  had  seemed  hardly  credible 
that  the  Englishman  could  have  gained  a  footing  in  that 
vast  pile ;  and  yet,  it  would  be  like  him  to  seek  precisely 
such  a  spot — the  very  heart  of  the  conspiracy  of  the 
Gateway,  if  they  guessed  aright. 

The  boat  surged  swiftly  on,  while  again  and  again 
Amber's  finger  trembled  on  the  trigger.  Though  al- 
ready the  white  gleaming  walls  towered  above  him,  it 
was  not  yet  too  late — not  too  late ;  but  should  he  with- 


240  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

draw,  force  Dulla  Dad  to  return,  he  might  miss  .  .  . 
what? 

He  did  nothing  save  resign  himself  to  the  issue.  As 
they  drew  nearer  the  moonlit  walls  he  looked  in  vain 
for  sign  of  a  landing-stage,  and  wondered,  the  lighted 
bund  that  he  had  seen  from  over  the  water  being  in- 
visible to  him  round  an  angle  of  the  building.  But 
Dulla  Dad  held  on  without  a  pause  until  the  moment 
when  it  seemed  that  he  intended  to  dash  the  boat  bows 
first  against  the  stone;  then,  with  a  final  dextrous  twist 
of  the  paddle,  he  swung  at  a  sharp  angle  and  simultane- 
ously checked  the  speed.  Under  scant  momentum  they 
slid  from  moonlight  and  the  clean  air  of  night  into  a 
close  well  between  two  walls,  and  then  suddenly  beneath 
an  arch  and  into  a  cavernous  chamber  filled  with  the 
soft  murmuring  of  water — and  with  darkness. 

Here  the  air  was  sluggish  and  heavy  and  dank  with 
the  odour  of  slime.  Breathing  it,  seeing  nothing  save 
the  spectral  gleam  of  moonlight  reflected  inwards,  hear- 
ing nothing  save  the  uncanny  lapping  and  purring  of 
the  ripples,  it  was  not  easy  to  forget  the  tales  men  told 
of  palace  corruption  and  crime — of  lovers  who  had 
stolen  thus  secretly  to  meet  their  mistresses,  and  who 
had  met,  instead,  Death;  of  assassins  who  had  skulked 
by  such  stealthy  ways  to  earn  blood-money;  of  spies, 
of  a  treacherous  legion  who  had  gained  entry  to  the 
palace  by  such  ways  as  this — perhaps  had  accom- 
plished their  intent  and  returned  to  tell  the  tale,  perhaps 
had  been  found  in  the  dawn-light,  floating  out  there 
on  the  lake  with  drawn,  wan  faces  upturned  to  the  pallid 
skies. 


OVER  THE  WATER  241 

"  Hazoor ! " 

It  was  Dulla  Dad's  voice,  sleek  with  fawning.  For 
all  the  repulsiveness  of  the  accents,  Amber  was  not  sorry 
to  hear  them.  At  least  the  native  was  human  and  .  ,.)  •.; 
this  experience  wasn't,  hardly.  .  .  .  He  leaned  to- 
ward the  man,  eyes  aching  with  the  futile  strain  of 
striving  to  penetrate  the  blackness.  He  could  see  noth- 
ing more  definite  than  shadows.  The  boat  was  resting 
motionless  on  the  tide,  as  if  suspended  in  an  abyss  of 
night,  fathomless  and  empty. 

"  Well,  what  now  ?  "  he  demanded  harshly.  "  Be 
careful,  Dulla  Dad!" 

"  Still  my  lord  distrusts  me?  There  is  naught  to 
fear,  none  here  to  lift  hand  against  you.  Your  servant 
lives  but  to  serve  you  in  all  loyalty." 

"  Indeed?  " 

"  My  lord  may  trust  me." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  have — too  far." 

"  My  lord  will  not  forget  ?  " 

"  Be  sure  of  that,  Dulla  Dad.  .  .  .  Well,  what  are 
you  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  We  are  arrived,  hazoor,"  said  the  native  calmly. 
"  If  you  will  be  pleased  to  step  ashore,  having  care 
lest  you  overturn  the  boat,  the  steps  are  on  your  left." 

"Where?  .  .  .Oh!"  Amber's  tentative  hand, 
groping  in  obscurity,  fell  upon  a  slab  of  stone, 
smooth  and  slippery,  but  solid.  "  You  mean  here?  " 

"  Aye,  hazoor," 

"  And  what  next?  " 

"  I  am  to  wait  to  conduct  you  back  to  your  place  of 
rest." 


242  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Um-m.  You  are,  eh?  "  Amber,  doubtful,  tried 
the  stone  again;  it  was  substantial  enough;  only  the 
boat  rocked.  He  struck  a  match;  the  short-lived  flame 
afforded  him  a  feeble,  unsatisfactory  impression  of  a 
long,  narrow,  vaulted  chamber,  whereof  the  floor  was 
half  water,  half  stone.  There  was  a  landing  to  the  left, 
a  rather  narrow  ledge,  with  a  low,  heavy  door,  bossed 
with  iron,  in  the  wall  beyond. 

Shaking  his  head,  he  lifted  himself  cautiously  out 
of  the  boat.  "  You  stay  right  there,  Dulla  Dad,"  he 
warned  the  native,  "  until  I  see  what  happens.  If  I 
catch  you  trying  to  get  away — the  boat  '11  show  up 
nicely  against  the  opening,  you  know — I'll  give  you 
cause  for  repentance." 

"  I  am  here,  hazoor.  Turn  you  and  knock  upon  the 
door  thus " — rapping  the  gunwale  of  the  boat — 
"  thrice." 

Amber  obeyed,  wrought  up  now  to  so  high  a  pitch 
of  excitement  and  suspense  that  he  could  hardly  have 
withdrawn  had  he  wished  to  and  been  able  to  force 
Dulla  Dad  to  heed  him.  As  he  knuckled  the  third  signal, 
the  door  swung  slowly  inward,  disclosing,  in  a  dim 
glow  of  light,  stone  walls — a  bare  stone  chamber  il- 
lumined by  a  single  iron  lamp  hanging  in  chains  from 
the  ceiling.  Across  the  room  a  dark  entry  opened  upon 
a  passageway  equally  dark. 

By  the  door  a  servant  stood,  his  attitude  deferential. 
As  the  Virginian's  gaze  fell  upon  him  he  salaamed  re- 
spectfully. 

Amber  entered,  his  eyes  quick,  his  right  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  grateful  for  the  cold  caress  of  nickelled 


OVER  THE  WATER  243 

steel,  his  body  poised  lightly  and  tensely  upon  the  balls 
of  his  feet — in  a  word,  ready.  Prepared  against  the 
worst  he  was  hopeful  of  the  best;  apprehensive,  he  re- 
minded himself  that  he  had  first  met  Labertouche  under 
auspices  hardly  more  prepossessing  than  these. 

The  clang  of  the  door  closing  behind  him  rang  hol- 
lowly in  the  stillness.  The  warder  moved  past  him  to 
the  entrance  of  the  corridor.  Amber  held  him  with  a 
sharp  question. 

"  Am  I  to  wait  here?  " 

"  For  a  moment,  Heaven-born !  "    He  disappeared. 

Without  a  sound  a  door  at  Amber's  elbow  that  had 

escaped  his  cursory  notice,  so  cunningly  was  it  fitted  in 

•the  wall,  swung  open,  and  a  remembered  voice  boomed 

in  his  ears,  not  without  a  certain  sardonic  inflection: 

"  Welcome,  my  lord,  welcome  to  Khandawar ! " 

Amber  swung  upon  the  speaker  with  a  snarl.  "  Salig 
Singh!" 

"  Thy  steward  bids  thee  welcome  to  thy  kingdom, 
hazoor !  " 

Dominating  the  scene  with  his  imposing  presence — 
a  figure  regal  in  the  regimentals  of  his  native  army — 
the  Rajput  humbled  himself  before  the  Virginian, 
dropping  to  his  knee  and  offering  his  jewelled  sword- 
hilt  in  token  of  his  fealty. 

"  Oh,  get  up !  "  snapped  Amber  impatiently.  "  I'm 
sick  of  all  this  damned  tomfoolery.  Get  up,  d'you 
hear? — unless  you  want  me  to  take  that  pretty  sword 
of  yours  and  spank  you  with  it ! " 

A  quiver,  as  of  self-repression,  moved  the  body  of  the 
man  at  his  feet;  then,  with  a  jangle  of  spurs,  Salig 


244  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Singh  leaped  up  and  stood  at  a  distance  of  two  paces, 
his  head  high,  his  black  eyes  glittering  ominously  with 
well-nigh  the  sinister  brilliance  of  his  vibrating  emerald 
aigrette. 

"  My  lord !  "  he  cr;  ^d  angrily.  "  Are  these  words  to 
use  to  one  who  offers  thee  his  heart  and  hand?  Is  this 
insolence  to  be  suffered  by  a  Rajput,  a  son  of  Kings?  " 

"  As  for  that,"  returned  Amber  steadily,  giving  him 
look  for  look,  "  your  grandfather  was  a  bunia  and  you 
know  it.  Whether  or  not  you're  going  to  *  suffer  '  what 
you  call  my  insolence,  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  much 
care.  You've  made  a  fool  of  me  twice,  now,  and  I'm 
tired  of  it.  I  give  you  my  word  I  don't  understand 
why  I  don't  shoot  you  down  here  and  now,  for  I  believe 
in  my  heart  you're  the  unholiest  scoundrel  unhung.  Is 
that  language  plain  enough  for  you  ?  " 

For  an  instant  longer  they  faced  one  another  offen- 
sively, Amber  cool  enough  outwardly  and  inwardly  boil- 
ing with  rage  that  he  should  have  walked  into  the  trap 
with  his  eyes  open,  Salig  Singh  trembling  with  resent- 
ment but  holding  himself  in  with  splendid  restraint. 

"  As  for  me,"  continued  Amber,  "  I  suspect  I'm  the 
most  hopeless  ass  in  the  three  Presidencies,  if  that's  any 
comfort  to  you,  Salig  Singh.  Now  what  d'you  want 
with  me?  " 

A  shadowy  smile  softened  the  blackness  of  the  Raj- 
put's wrath.  He  shrugged  and  moved  his  hands 
sh'ghtly,  exposing  their  palms,  subtly  signifying  his 
submission. 

*'  Thou  art  my  overlord,"  he  said  quietly,  with  a 
silky  deference.  "  In  time  thou  wilt  see  how  thou  hast 


OVER  THE  WATER  245 

wronged  me.  For  the  present,  I  remain  thy  servant.  I 
harbour  no  resentment,  I  owe  thee  naught  but  loyalty. 
I  await  thy  commands." 

"  The  dickens  you  do ! "  Amber  whistled  inaudibly, 
his  eyes  narrowing  as  he  pondered  the  man.  "  You  pro- 
test a  lot,  Salig  Singh.  If  you're  so  much  at  my  serv- 
ice .  .  .  why,  prove  it." 

By  way  of  reply  Salig  Singh  lifted  his  sword  in  its 
scabbard  from  its  fastenings  at  his  side  and,  with  a 
magnificent  gesture,  cast  it  clanking  to  the  floor  be- 
tween them.  A  heavy  English  army-pattern  revolver 
followed  it.  The  Rajput  spread  out  his  hands.  "  Thou 
art  armed,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "  I,  at  thy  mercy.  If  thou 
dost  misjudge  my  purpose  in  causing  thee  to  be  brought 
hither,  my  life  is  in  thy  hands." 

"  Oh,  yes."  Amber  nodded.  "  That's  very  pretty. 
But  presuming  I  chose  to  take  it?  " 

"  Thou  art  free  as  the  winds  of  the  morning.  See, 
then."  Salig  Singh  strode  to  the  outer  door  and  threw 
it  open.  "  The  way  of  escape  is  clear — not  even 
locked." 

The  lamplight  fell  across  the  stone  landing  and  made 
visible  the  waiting  boat  with  Dulla  Dad  sitting  patiently 
at  the  oar. 

"  I  see,"  assented  Amber.     "  Well?  " 

Salig  Singh  shut  the  door  gently.  "  Is  there  more  to 
say  ?  "  he  enquired.  "  I  have  shown  thee  that  thou  art 
free." 

"  Oh,  so  far  as  that  goes,  you've  demonstrated  pretty 
clearly  that  you're  not  afraid  of  me.  Of  course  I  know 
as  well  as  you  do  that  at  the  first  shot  Dulla  Dad  would 


246  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

slip  out  to  the  lake  and  leave  me  here  to  die  like  a  rat  in 
a  corner." 

"  Thou  knowest,  lord,  that  no  man  in  Khandawar 
would  do  thee  any  hurt.  Thy  person  is  sacred 

"  That's  all  bosh.  You  don't  expect  me  to  believe 
that  you  still  stick  to  that  absurd  fiction  of  yours — 
that  I'm  Rutton?" 

"  Then  mine  eyes  have  played  me  false,  hazoor.  Sha- 
bash !  "  Salig  Singh  bowed  resignedly. 

"  Well,  then,  what  do  you  want  ?  Why  have  you 
brought  me  here  ?  " 

"  Why  didst  thou  come?  There  was  no  force  used: 
thou  didst  come  of  thine  own  will — thine  own  will,  which 
is  the  will  of  the  Body,  hazoor !  " 

"  Oh,  damnation !  Why  d'you  insist  on  beating  round 
the  bush  forever?  You  know  well  why  I  came.  Now, 
what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  I  move,  it  seems,  in  the  ways  of  error.  A 
little  time  ago  the  words  of  the  Voice  were  made  known 
to  thee  in  a  far  land ;  thou  didst  answer,  coming  to  this 
country.  A  few  days  agone  I  myself  did  repeat  to  you 
the  message  of  the  Bell;  thou  didst  swear  thou  wouldst 
not  answer,  yet  art  thou  here  in  Kuttarpur.  Am  I  to 
be  blamed  for  taking  this  for  a  sign  of  thy  repentance? 
.  .  .  Hazoor,  the  Body  is  patient,  the  Will  benignant 
and  long-suffering.  Still  is  the  Gateway  open." 

"  Is  that  what  you  wanted  to  tell  me,  Saligh  Singh?  " 

"  What  else?  Am  I  to  believe  thee  a  madman,  weary 
of  life,  that  thou  shouldst  venture  hither  with  a  heart 
hardened  against  the  Will  of  the  Body?  I  seek  but 
to  serve  thee  in  thus  daring  thy  displeasure.  Why 


OVER  THE  WATER  247 

shouldst  thou  come  to  Bharuta  *  at  all  if  thou  dost  not 
intend  to  undergo  the  Ordeal  of  the  Gateway?  Am  I 
a  fool  or — I  say  it  in  all  respect,  my  lord — art  thou  ?  " 

"  From  the  look  of  things,  I  fancy  the  epithet  fits 
us  both,  Salig  Singh.  You  refuse  to  take  my  word  for 
it  that  I  know  nothing  of  your  infamous  Gateway  and 
have  no  intention  of  ever  approaching  it,  that  I  have  not 
a  drop  of  Indian  blood  in  me  and  am  in  no  way  related 
to  or  connected  with  Har  Dyal  Rutton,  who  is 
dead " 

"  I  may  not  believe  what  I  know  to  be  untrue." 

"  You'll  have  to  learn  to  recognise  the  truth,  I'm 
afraid.  For  the  final  time  I  tell  you  that  I  am  David 
Amber,  a  citizen  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
travelling  in  India  on  purely  personal  business." 

The  Rajput  inclined  his  head  submissively.  "  Then 
is  my  duty  all  but  done,  hazoor.  Thrice  hath  the  warn- 
ing been  given  thee.  There  be  still  four-and-twenty 
hours  in  which,  it  may  be,  thou  shalt  learn  to  see  clearly. 
My  lord,  I  ask  of  thee  a  single  favour.  Wilt  thou  fol- 
low me?  "  He  motioned  toward  the  arched  entrance  to 
the  passageway. 

"  Follow  thee? "  Amber  at  length  dropped  into 
Urdu,  unconsciously  adopting  the  easier  form  of  com- 
munication now  that,  he  felt,  the  issue  between  them 
was  plain,  that  the  Rajput  laboured  under  no  further 
misunderstanding  as  to  the  reason  of  his  presence  in 
Khandawar.  "  Whither?  " 

"  There  is  that  which  I  must  show  thee." 

"What?" 

*  India. 


248  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  My  life  be  forfeit  if  thou  dost  not  return  unharmed 
to  the  rest-house  ere  sunrise.  Wilt  thou  come?  " 

"To  what  end,  Salig  Singh?" 

"  Furthermore,"  the  Rajput  persisted  stubbornly, 
his  head  lifted  in  pride  and  his  nostrils  dilated  a  little 
with  scorn — "  furthermore  I  offer  thee  the  word  of  a 
Rajput.  Thou  are  my  guest,  since  thou  wilt  have  it 
so.  No  harm  shall  come  to  thee,  upon  my  honour." 

Curiosity  triumphed.  Amber  knew  that  he  had  ex- 
acted the  most  honoured  pledge  known  in  Rajputana. 
His  apprehensions  were  at  rest ;  nothing  could  touch  him 
now — until  he  had  returned  to  the  bungalow.  Then,  he 
divined,  it  was  to  be  open  war — himself  and  Laber- 
touche  pitted  against  the  strength  of  the  greatest  con- 
spiracy known  in  India  since  the  days  of  '57.  But  for 
the  present,  no  pledge  of  any  sort  had  been  exacted 
of  him. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  assented  on  impulse.    "  I  follow." 

With  no  other  word  Salig  Singh  turned  and  strode 
down  the  corridor. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FROM    A    HIGH    PLACE 

THE  passageway  was  long  and  dark  and  given  to  sud- 
den curves  and  angles,  penetrating,  it  seemed,  the  very 
bowels  of  the  Raj  Mahal.  It  ended  unexpectedly 
in  a  low  arch  through  which  the  two  men  passed  into  an 
open  courtyard,  apparently  given  over  entirely  to 
stables.  Despite  the  lateness  of  the  hour  it  was  tenanted 
by  several  wideawake  syces,  dancing  attendance  upon  a 
pair  of  blooded  stallions  of  the  stud  royal,  who,  saddled, 
bridled  and  hooded,  pawed  and  champed  impatiently 
in  the  centre  of  the  yard,  making  it  echo  with  the  ring- 
ing of  iron  on  stone  and  the  jingling  of  their  silver 
curb-chains. 

Salig  Singh  paused,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  calling 
Amber's  attention  to  the  superb  brutes. 

"  Thou  canst  see,  hazoor,  that  all  is  prepared ! " 

"For  what?" 

But  Saligh  Singh  merely  smiled  enigmatically,  and 
shaking  a  patient  head,  passed  on. 

A  second  arch  gave  upon  a  corridor  which  led  up- 
wards and  presently  changed  into  a  steep  flight  of 
steps,  of  ancient  stone  worn  smooth  and  grooved  with 
the  traffic  of  generations  of  naked  feet.  At  the  top 
they  turned  aside  and  passed  through  a  deserted  hang- 
ing garden,  and  then,  through  a  heavy  door  which 
Salig  Singh  unlocked  with  a  private  key,  into  a  vast, 

249 


250  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

vacant  room,  with  a  lofty  ceiling  supported  by  huge, 
unwieldy  pillars  of  stone,  sculptured  with  all  the  loves 
and  wars  of  Hindu  mythology.  At  one  end  the  fitful, 
eerie  flare  of  a  great  bronze  brazier  revealed  the  huge 
proportions  of  an  ivory  throne,  gorgeous  with  gems  and 
cloth  of  gold,  standing  upon  a  dais  and  flanked  by  two 
motionless  figures  which  at  first  sight  Amber  took  to  be 
pieces  of  statuary.  But  they  quickened,  saluting  with 
a  single  movement  and  a  flash  of  steel,  as  the  Maharana 
drew  nearer,  and  so  proved  themselves  troopers  of  the 
State,  standing  guard  with  naked  swords. 

"  There  is  no  need,  perhaps,  to  tell  thee,  hazoor," 
Salig  Singh  muttered,  bending  to  Amber's  ear,  "  that 
sitting  upon  this  throne,  in  this  Hall  of  Audience,  for 
generations  thy  forefathers  ruled  this  land,  making  and 
administering  its  laws,  meting  out  justice,  honoured  of 
all  men — and  served,  my  lord,  for  generations  by  my 
forebears,  the  faithful  stewards  of  thy  House;  even  as 
I  would  prove  faithful  .  .  ." 

"  Interesting,"  Amber  interrupted  brusquely,  "  if 
true.  Is  this  what  you  wanted  to  show  me?  " 

"  Nay,  hazoor,  not  this  alone.     Come." 

The  Rajput  led  him  out  of  the  hall  by  way  of  a  small 
doorway  behind  the  throne,  and  after  a  little  turning 
and  twisting  through  tortuous  passages  they  began 
to  ascend  again,  and  so  went  on  up,  ever  upwards, 
the  flights  of  steps  broken  by  other  corridors,  other 
apartments,  other  galleries  and  gardens,  until  at  length 
they  emerged  into  a  garden  laid  out  in  the  very  topmost 
court  of  all — the  loftiest  spot  in  all  Kuttarpur. 

It  was  a  very  wonderful  garden,  a  jungle  of  exotic 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  251 

plants  and  shrubs  threaded  by  narrow  walks  that  led  to 
secluded  nooks  and  unsuspected  pleasaunces,  and  lighted 
by  low-swung  festoons  of  dim  lamps,  many-coloured. 
A  banian  grew  curiously  in  its  midst,  and  there  also 
they  found  a  great  tank  of  crystal  water  with  a  bed  of 
brilliant  pebbles  over  which  small  golden  gleaming  fish 
flashed  and  loitered.  Here,  where  the  walls  of  acacia, 
orange,  thuia  and  pepal  shut  out  every  breath  of  wind, 
the  air  was  dense  with  the  cloying  sweetness  of  jasmine, 
musk  and  marigold.  .  .  . 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  Maharana,  pausing,  "  if  thou 
wilt  wait  here  for  a  little,  permitting  me  to  excuse 
myself ?  " 

"  All  right,"  Amber  told  him  tolerantly.  "  Run 
along." 

Salig  Singh  quietly  effaced  himself,  and  the  Ameri- 
can watched  him  go  with  an  inward  chuckle.  "  I  pre- 
sume I'll  have  to  pay  for  my  impudence  in  the  end,"  he 
thought ;  "  but  it's  costing  Salig  Singh  a  good  deal  to 
hold  himself  in."  He  was  for  the  time  being  not  ill- 
pleased  with  this  phase  of  his  adventure ;  he  had  a  notion 
that  this  must  be  a  sort  of  very  private  pleasure-ground 
of  the  rulers  of  Khandawar,  and  that  very  few,  if  any, 
white  people  had  ever  been  permitted  to  inspect  it. 
What  the  Maharana's  next  move  would  be  he  had  not 
the  least  suspicion ;  but  since  he  must  be  content  and 
abide  the  developments  as  they  came,  he  was  minded  to 
amuse  himself.  He  moved  away  from  the  cistern,  idling 
down  a  path  in  a  direction  opposite  that  taken  by 
Salig  Singh. 

An  abrupt  turn  brought  him  to  the  outer  wall,  and 


252  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

he  stopped  to  gaze,  leaning  upon  the  low  marble 
balustrade. 

From  his  feet  the  wall  fell  away  sheer,  precipitous,  a 
hundred  feet  or  more,  to  another  hanging  garden  like 
that  which  lay  behind  him.  From  this  there  was  an- 
other stupendous  drop.  On  all  sides  the  marble  walls 
spread  over  the  hillsides,  descending  it  in  great  strides 
broken  by  terraces,  gardens,  paved  courts,  all  white  and 
silver  and  deep  violet  shadow,  with  here  and  there  a  win- 
dow glowing  softly  yellow  or  a  web  of  saffron  rays  peep- 
ing through  the  intricacies  of  a  carved  stone  lattice. 
Far  below,  on  the  one  hand,  the  lake  lay  like  a  sheet  of 
steel;  on  the  other  the  city  stretched,  a  huddle  of  flat 
roofs  not  unlike  an  armful  of  child's  building  blocks. 
At  that  great  height  the  effect  was  that  of  peering  over 
the  upper  lip  of  an  avalanche  of  masonry  on  the  point 
of  tumbling  headlong  down  a  mountainside  to  crush  all 
beneath  it. 

In  the  hush  there  rose  to  Amber  a  muted  confusion 
of  sounds — the  blended  voices  of  the  multitude  that 
inhabited  the  hidden  chambers  of  the  palace :  the  paw- 
ing and  shrill  neighing  of  the  stallions  in  the  lower  court- 
yard, a  shivering  clash  of  steel  against  steel,  some- 
where the  tinkle  of  a  stringed  instrument  and  a  soft 
voice  singing,  a  man's  accents  weighty  with  authority, 
the  ripple  of  a  woman's  laugh — all  relieved  against  an 
undertone  like  a  profound  sigh,  waning  and  waxing :  the 
breathing  of  the  Raj  Mahal  .  .  . 

Amber  turned  away  to  rejoin  Salig  Singh  by  the 
cistern.  But  the  Rajput  was  not  there;  and,  pres- 
ently, another  path  tempting  him  to  unlawful  explora- 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  253 

tion,  he  yielded  and  sauntered  aimlessly  away.  A  sud- 
den corner  cloaked  with  foliage  brought  him  to  a  little 
open  space,  a  patch  of  lawn  over  which  a  canopy  had 
been  raised.  Beneath  this,  a  woman  sat  alone.  He 
halted,  thunderstruck. 

Simultaneously,  with  a  soft  swish  of  draperies,  a 
clash  of  jewelled  bracelets,  dull  and  musical,  and  a  flash 
of  coruscating  colour,  the  woman  stood  before  him, 
young,  slender,  graceful,  garbed  in  indescribable  splen- 
dour— and  veiled. 

For  the  space  of  three  long  breaths  the  Virginian 
hesitated,  unspeakably  amazed.  Though  she  were 
veiled,  it  were  deep  dishonour  for  a  woman  of  a  Raj- 
put's household  to  be  seen  by  a  stranger.  It  seemed 
inexplicable  that  Salig  Singh  should  have  wittingly  left 
him  in  any  place  where  he  might  encounter  an  inmate 
of  the  zenana.  Yet  the  Maharana  must  have  known. 
.  .  .  Amber  made  an  irresolute  movement,  as  if  to 
go.  But  it  was  too  late. 

With  a  murmur,  inaudible,  and  a  swift,  infinitely 
alluring  gesture,  the  woman  swept  the  veil  away  from 
her  face,  and  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  She 
moved  toward  him  slowly,  swaying,  as  graceful  as  a 
fawn,  more  beautiful  than  any  woman  he  had  ever 
known.  His  breath  caught  in  his  throat,  for  sheer 
wonder  at  this  incomparable  loveliness. 

Her  face  was  oval  without  a  flaw,  and  pale  as  newly- 
minted  gold,  with  a  flush  of  red  where  the  blood  ran 
warm  beneath  the  skin.  Her  hair  was  black  as  ebony 
and  finer  than  the  finest  silk,  rich  and  lustrous ;  her  jet- 
black  eyebrows  formed  a  perfect  arch.  Her  mouth 


254  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

was  like  a  passion-flower,  but  small  and  sweet,  with  lips 
full  and  firm  and  scarlet.  Her  eyes  were  twin  pools  of 
darkness  lighted  with  ardent  inner  fire.  They  held 
him  speechless  and  motionless  with  the  beauty  of  their 
unuttered  desire,  and  before  he  could  collect  his  wits 
she  had  made  him  captive — had  without  warning  cast 
herself  upon  her  knees  before  him  and  imprisoned  both 
his  hands,  burying  her  face  in  their  palms.  He  felt  her 
lips  hot  upon  his  flesh,  and  then — wonder  of  wonders ! — 
tears  from  those  divine  eyes  streaming  through  his 
fingers. 

The  shock  of  it  brought  him  to  his  senses.  Pitiful, 
dumfounded,  horrified,  he  glared  wildly  about  him,  seek- 
ing some  avenue  of  escape.  There  was  no  one  watching : 
he  thanked  Heaven  for  that,  while  the  cold  sweat  started 
out  upon  his  forehead.  But  still  at  his  feet  the  woman 
rocked,  softly  sobbing,  her  fair  shoulders  gently  agi- 
tated, and  still  she  defied  his  gentle  efforts  to  free  his 
hands,  holding  them  in  a  grasp  he  might  not  break 
without  hurting  her.  He  found  his  tongue  event- 
ually. 

"  Don't !  "  he  pleaded  desperately.  "  My  dear,  you 
mustn't.  For  pity's  sake  don't  sob  like  that!  What 
under  the  sun's  the  trouble?  Don't,  please!  .  .  . 
Good  Lord !  what  am  I  to  do  with  this  lovely  lunatic  ?  " 
Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  spoken  in  English 
and  thoughtfully  translated  the  gist  of  his  remon- 
strances, with  as  little  effect  as  if  he  had  spoken  to  the 
empty  air. 

Though  in  time  the  fiercest  paroxysm  of  her  passion 
passed  and  her  sobs  diminished  in  violence,  she  clung 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  255 

heavily  to  him  and  made  no  resistance  when  he  lifted 
her  in  his  arms.  The  error  was  fatal ;  he  had  designed 
to  get  her  on  her  feet  and  then  stand  away.  But  no 
sooner  had  he  raised  her  and  succeeded  in  disengag- 
ing his  hands,  than  soft  round  arms  were  clasped 
tightly  about  his  neck  and  her  face — if  possible,  more 
ravishing  in  tears  than  when  first  he  had  seen  it — pil- 
lowed on  his  breast.  And  for  the  first  time  she  spoke 
coherently. 

"  Ate!  "  she  wailed  tremulously.  "  Ate!  Now  is  the 
cup  of  my  happiness  full  to  brimming,  now  that  thou 
hast  returned  to  me  at  last,  O  my  lord !  Well-nigh  had 
I  ceased  to  hope  for  thee,  O  Beloved ;  well-nigh  had  this 
heart  of  mine  grown  cold  within  my  bosom,  that  had  no 
nourishment  save  hope,  save  hope!  Day  and  night  I 
have  watched  for  thy  coming  for  many  years,  praying 
that  thou  shouldst  return  to  me  ere  this  frail  prettiness 
of  mine,  that  made  thee  love  me  long  ago,  should  wane 
and  fade,  so  that  thy  heart  should  turn  to  other  women, 
O  my  husband !  " 

"  Husband !  Great — Heavens !  Look  here,  my  dear, 
hadn't  you  better  come  to  your  senses  and  let  me  go 
before " 

"Let  thee  go,  Lalji,  ere  what?  Ere  any  come  to 
disturb  us?  Nay,  but  who  should  come  between  hus- 
band and  wife  in  the  first  hour  of  their  reunion  after 
many  years  of  separation?  Is  it  not  known — does  not 
all  Khandawar  know  how  I  have  waited  for  thee,  almost 
thy  widow  ere  thy  wife,  all  this  weary  time?  .  .  . 
Or  is  it  that  thy  heart  hath  forgotten  thy  child-bride? 
Am  I  scorned,  O  my  Lord — I,  Naraini?  Is  there  no 


256  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

love  in  thy  bosom  to  leap  in  response  to  the  love  of  thee 
that  is  my  life?  " 

She  released  him  and  whirled  a  pace  or  two  away, 
draperies  swirling,  jewels  scintillating  cold  fire  in  hope- 
less emulation  of  the  radiance  of  her  tear-gemmed  eyes. 

"  Naraini  ?  "  stammered  Amber,  recalling  what  he 
had  heard  of  the  woman.  "  Naraini !  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord,  Naraini,  thy  wedded  wife ! "  The 
rounded  little  chin  went  up  a  trifle  and  her  eyes  gleamed 
angrily.  "Am  I  no  longer  thy  Naraini,  then?  Or. 
wouldst  thou  deny  that  thou  art  Har  Dyal,  my  king 
and  my  beloved  ?  Hast  thou  indeed  forgotten  the  child 
that  was  given  thee  for  wife  when  thy  father  reigned  in 
Khandawar  and  thou  wert  but  a  boy — a  boy  of  ten, 
the  Maharaj  Har  Dyal?  Hast  thou  forgotten  the  little 
maid  they  brought  thee  from  the  north,  Lalji — the 
maiden  who  had  grown  to  womanhood  ere  thy  return 
from  thy  travels  to  take  up  thy  father's  crown?  .  .  . 
Ale!  Thou  canst  never  forget,  Beloved ;  though  years 
and  the  multitude  of  faces  have  come  between  us  as  a 
veil,  thou  dost  remember — even  as  thou  didst  remember 
when  the  message  of  the  Bell  came  to  thee  across  the 
great  black  waters,  and  thou  didst  learn  that  the  days 
of  thy  exile  were  numbered,  that  the  hour  approached 
when  again  thou  shouldst  sit  in  the  place  of  thy  fathers 
and  rule  the  world  as  once  they  ruled  it." 

A  denial  stuck  in  Amber's  throat.  The  words  would 
not  come,  nor  would  they,  he  believed,  have  served  his 
purpose  could  he  have  commanded  them.  If  he  had 
found  no  argument  wherewith  to  persuade  Salig  Singh, 
he  found  none  wherewith  to  refute  the  claim  of  this 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  257 

golden-faced  woman  who  recognised  him  for  her  hus- 
band. He  was  wholly  dismayed  and  aghast.  But  while 
he  lingered  in  indecision,  staring  in  the  woman's  face, 
her  look  of  petulance  was  replaced  by  one  of  divine 
forgiveness  and  compassion.  And  she  gave  him  no  time 
to  think  or  to  avoid  her ;  in  a  twinkling  she  had  thrown 
herself  upon  him  again,  was  in  his  arms  and  crushing 
her  lips  upon  his. 

"  Nay,"  she  murmured,  "  but  I  did  wrong  thee,  Be- 
loved !  Perchance,"  she  told  him  archly,  "  thou  didst 
not  think  to  see  me  so  soon,  or  in  this  garden?  Per- 
chance surprise  hath  robbed  thee  of  thy  wits — and  thy 
tongue  as  well,  O  wordless  one?  Or  thou  art  overcome 
with  joy,  as  I  am  overcome,  and  smitten  dumb  by  it,  as  I 
am  not?  Aho,  Lalji!  was  ever  a  woman  at  loss  for 
words  to  voice  her  happiness  ?  "  And  nestling  to  him 
she  laughed  quietly,  with  a  note  as  tender  and  sweet 
as  the  cooing  of  a  wood-dove  to  its  mate. 

"  Nay,  but  there  is  a  mistake."  He  recovered  the 
power  of  speech  tardily,  and  would  have  put  her  from 
him ;  but  she  held  tight  to  him.  "  I  am  not  thy  hus- 
band, nor  yet  a  Rajput.  I  come  from  America,  the  far 
land  where  thy  husband  died.  .  .  .  Nay,  it  doth  pain 
me  to  hurt  thee  so,  Ranee,  but  the  mistake  is  not  of  my 
making,  and  it  hath  been  carried  too  far.  Thy  hus- 
band died  in  my  presence " 

"  It  is  so,  then ! "  she  cut  him  short.  And  his  arms 
were  suddenly  empty,  to  his  huge  relief.  "  Indeed  they 
had  warned  me  that  thou  wouldst  tell  this  story  and 
deny  me — why,  I  know  not,  unless  it  be  that  thou  art 
unworthy  of  thy  lineage,  a  coward  and  a  weakling ! " 


258  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Her  small  foot  stamped  angrily  and  on  every  limb  of 
her  round  body  bracelets  and  anklets  clashed  and 
shimmered.  "  And  so  thou  hast  returned  only  to  for- 
swear me  and  thy  kingdom,  O  thou  of  little  spirit !  " 
The  scarlet  lips  curled  and  the  eyes  grew  cold  and  hard 
with  contempt.  "  If  that  be  so,  tell  me,  why  hast  thou 
returned  at  all?  To  die?  For  that  thou  must  surely 
come  to,  if  it  be  in  thy  mind  to  defy  the  behests  of  the 
Voice,  thou  king  without  a  kingdom !  .  .  .  Why,  then, 
art  thou  here,  rather  than  running  to  hide  in  some  far 
place,  thinking  to  escape  with  thy  worthless  life — 
worthless  even  to  thee,  who  art  too  craven  to  make  a 
man's  use  of  it — from  the  Vengeance  of  the  Body? 
.  .  .  Dost  think  I  am  to  be  tricked  and  hoodwinked — 
I,  in  whose  heart  thine  image  hath  been  enshrined  these 
many  weary  years  ?  " 

"  I  neither  think,  nor  know,  nor  greatly  care,  Ranee," 
Amber  interposed  wearily.  "  Doubtless  I  deserve  thine 
anger  and  thy  scorn,  since  I  am  not  he  who  thou  wouldst 
have  me  be.  If  death  must  be  my  portion  for  this  of- 
fence, for  that  I  resemble  Har  Dyal  Rutton  .  .  . 
then  it  is  written  that  I  am  to  die.  My  business  here 
in  Khandawar  hath  concern  neither  with  thee,  nor  with 
the  State,  not  yet  with  the  Gateway  of  Swords — of  the 
very  name  of  which  I  am  weary.  .  .  .  Now,"  and  his 
mouth  settled  in  lines  of  unmistakable  resolve,  "  I  will 
go;  nor  do  I  think  that  there  be  any  here  to  stop 
me." 

He  wheeled  about,  prepared  to  fight  his  way  out  of 
the  palace,  if  need  be.  Indeed,  it  was  in  his  mind  that 
a  death  there  were  as  easy  as  one  an  hour  after  sun- 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  259 

rise;  for  he  had  little  doubt  but  that  he  was  to  die  if 
he  remained  obdurate,  and  the  hospitality  of  the  Raj- 
put would  cease  to  protect  him  the  moment  he  set  foot 
upon  the  marble  bund  of  his  bungalow. 

But  the  woman  sprang  after  him  and  caught  his  arm. 
"  Of  thy  pity,"  she  begged  breathlessly,  "  hold  for  a 
space  until  I  have  taken  thought.  .  .  .  Thou  knowest 
that  if  what  thou  hast  told  me  be  the  truth,  then  am  I 
widow  before  my  time — widowed  and  doomed !  " 

"Doomed?" 

"  Aye !  "  And  there  was  real  terror  in  her  eyes  and 
voice.  "  Doomed  to  sati.  For,  since  I  am  a  widow — 
since  thou  dost  maintain  thou  art  not  my  husband — 
then  my  face  hath  been  looked  upon  by  a  man  not  of 
mine  own  people,  and  I  am  dishonoured.  Fire  alone  can 
cleanse  me  of  that  defilement — the  pyre  and  the  death 
by  flame ! " 

"  Good  God !  you  don't  mean  that !  Surely  that  cus- 
tom has  perished !  " 

"  Thou  shouldst  know  that  it  dieth  not.  What  to 
us  women  in  whose  bodies  runs  the  blood  of  royalty,  is 
an  edict  of  your  English  Government?  What,  the  Sir- 
kar  itself  to  us  in  Khandawar?  "  She  laughed  bitterly. 
"  I  am  a  Rohilla,  a  daughter  of  kings :  my  dishonour 
may  be  purged  only  by  flame.  Arrel  that  I  should  live 
to  meet  with  such  fate — I,  Naraini,  to  perish  in  the 
flower  of  my  beauty.  .  .  .  For  I  am  beautiful,  am  I 
not?  "  She  dropped  the  veil  which  instinctively  she 
had  caught  across  her  face,  and  met  his  gaze  with  child- 
ish coquetry,  torn  though  she  seemed  to  be  by  fear  and 
disappointment. 


260  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Thou  art  assuredly  most  beautiful,  Ranee,"  Amber 
told  her,  with  a  break  in  his  voice,  very  compassionate. 
And  he  spoke  simple  truth.  "  Of  thy  kind  there  is  none 
more  lovely  in  the  world  ..." 

"  There  was  tenderness  then  in  your  tone,  my  lord ! " 
she  caught  him  up  quickly.  "  Is  there  no  mercy  in  thy 
heart  for  me?  .  .  .  Who  is  this  woman  across  the 
seas  who  hath  won  thy  love?  .  .  .  Aye,  even  that  I 
know — that  thou  dost  love  this  fair  daughter  of  the 
English.  Didst  thou  not  lose  the  picture  of  her  that 
was  taken  with  the  magic-box  of  the  sahibs?  .  .  . 
Is  it  for  her  sake  that  thou  dost  deny  me,  O  my  hus- 
band? Is  she  more  fair  than  I,  are  her  lips  more 
sweet  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  thy  husband,"  he  declared  vehemently, 
appalled  by  her  reversion  to  that  delusion.  "  Till  this 
hour  I  have  never  seen  thee;  nor  is  the  sahiba  of  any 
concern  to  thee.  Let  me  go,  please." 

But  she  had  him  fast  and  he  could  not  have  shaken 
her  off  but  with  violence.  He  had  been  a  strong  man 
indeed  who  had  not  been  melted  to  tenderness  by  her 
beauty  and  her  distress.  She  lifted  her  glorious  face  to 
him,  pleading,  insistent,  and  played  upon  him  with  her 
voice  of  gold.  "  Yet  a  moment  gone  thou  didst  tell  me 
I  was  greatly  gifted  with  beauty.  Have  I  changed  in 
thine  eyes,  O  my  king?  Canst  thou  look  upon  this  poor 
beauty  and  hear  me  tell  thee  of  my  love — and  indeed  I 
am  altogether  thine,  Lalji! — and  harden  thy  heart 
against  me?  .  .  .  What  though  it  be  as  thou  hast 
said?  What  though  thou  art;  of  a  truth  not  of  the  house 
of  Rutton,  nor  yet  a  Rajput?  Let  us  say  that  this  is  so, 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  261 

however  hard  it  be  to  credit :  even  so,  am  /  not  reward 
enough  for  thy  renunciation  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  thy  meaning,  Ranee,  I " 

"  Come,  then,  and  I  will  show  thee,  my  king.  Come 
thou  with  me.  .  .  .  Nay,  why  shouldst  thou  falter? 
There  is  naught  for  thee  to  fear — save  me."  She 
tugged  at  his  hand  and  laughed  low,  in  a  voice  that 
sang  like  smitten  glasses.  "  Come,  Beloved !  " 

Unwillingly,  he  humoured  her.  This  could  not  last 
long.  .  .  .  The  woman  half  led,  half  dragged  him 
to  the  northern  boundary  of  the  garden,  where  they 
entered  a  little  turret  builded  out  from  the  walls  over 
an  abyss  fully  three-hundred  feet  in  depth.  And  here, 
standing  upon  the  verge  of  the  parapet,  with  naught 
but  a  foot  high  coping  between  her  and  the  frightful 
fall,  utterly  fearless  and  unutterably  lovely,  Naraini 
flung  out  a  bare,  jewelled  arm  in  an  eloquent  gesture. 

"  See,  my  king ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  vibrant,  her 
eyes  kindling  as  they  met  his.  "  Look  down  upon  thy 
kingdom.  North,  south,  east,  west — look !  "  she  com- 
manded. "  Wherever  thine  eyes  may  turn,  and  farther 
than  they  can  see  upon  the  clearest  day,  this  land  is  all 
thine  .  .  .  for  the  taking.  Look  and  tell  me  thou 
hast  strength  to  renounce  it  ...  and  me,  Beloved !  " 

A  little  giddy  with  the  consciousness  of  their  perilous 
height,  his  breath  coming  harshly,  he  looked — first 
down  to  the  lake  that  shone  like  a  silver  dollar  set  in 
velvet,  then  up  the  misty  distances  of  the  widening  val- 
ley through  which  ran  the  stream  that  fed  the  lake,  and 
out  to  the  hills  that  closed  it  in,  miles  away,  and  then 
farther  yet  over  the  silvered  summits  of  the  great, 


262  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

rough  hills  that  rolled  away  endlessly,  like  a  sea  frozen 
in  its  fury. 

"  There  lies  thy  kingdom,  O  my  king ! "  The  bewitch- 
ing voice  cooed  seduction  at  his  shoulder.  "  There  and 
.  .  .  here."  She  sought  his  hand  and  placed  it  firmly 
upon  her  bosom,  holding  it  there  with  gentle  pressure 
until  he  felt  the  thumping  of  her  heart  and  the  warm 
flesh  that  heaved  beneath  a  shred  of  half -transparent 
lace. 

Reddening  and  a  little  shaken,  he  snatched  his  hand 
away.  And  she  laughed  chidingly. 

"  From  the  railway  in  the  north  to  the  railway  in  the 
south,  all  the  land  is  Khandawar,  Beloved:  thine  in- 
heritance— thine  for  the  taking  .  .  .  even  as  I  am 
thine,  if  thou  wilt  take  me.  .  .  .  Look  upon  it,  thy 
father's  kingdom,  then  upon  me,  thy  queen.  .  .  . 
Yea !  "  she  cried,  throwing  back  her  head  and  meeting 
his  gaze  with  eye  languorous  beneath  their  heavy  silken 
lashes.  "  Yea,  I  am  altogether  thine,  my  king !  Wilt 
thou  cast  me  aside,  then,  who  am  faint  with  love  for 
thee?  .  .  .  Never  hast  thou  dreamed  of  love  such  as 
the  love  that  I  bear  for  thee.  How  could  it  be  otherwise, 
when  thou  hast  passed  thy  days  in  the  chill  exile  of  the 
North?  O  my  husband,  turn  not  from  me 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  stood  away. 
"  Madam,"  he  said  with  an  absurdly  formal  bow,  "  I 
am  not  your  husband." 

She  opened  her  arms  with  infinite  allure.  "  It  is  so 
little  that  is  asked  of  thee — only  to  ascend  thy 
father's  throne  and  be  honoured  of  all  Bharuta,  only 
to  wield  the  sceptre  that  is  thine  by  right,  only  to 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  263 

reign  an  undisputed  king  in  two  kingdoms — Khandawar 
and  thy  Naraini's  heart !  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  returned  with  the  same  precise- 
ness.  "  It  is  quite  impossible.  Besides,  it  seems  that 
you  leave  the  Sirkar  altogether  out  of  your  calcula- 
tions. It  may  not  have  occurred  to  you  that  the  Su- 
preme Government  of  India  may  have  something  to  say 
about  the  contemplated  change." 

He  saw  her  bite  her  lips  with  chagrin,  and  the  look 
she  flashed  to  his  face  was  anything  but  kind  and 
tender.  "  Arrel  "  she  laughed  derisively.  "  And  of 
what  account  is  this  frail,  tottering  Sirkar's  will  besides 
the  Will  of  the  Body?  Of  what  avail  its  dicta  against 
the  rulings  of  the  Bell?  Thou  knowest " 

"  Pardon,  I  know  nothing.  I  have  told  thee,  Ranee, 
that  I  am  not  Har  Dyal  Rutton." 

She  was  mistress  of  a  thousand  artifices.  Brought 
to  a  standstill  on  the  one  line  of  attack,  she  diverged  to 
another  without  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash  to  betray  her 
discomfiture. 

"  Yea,  thou  hast  told  me,"  she  purred.  "  But  I, 
Naraini,  7  know  what  I  know.  Thou  dos't  deny  thy- 
self even  as  thou  dost  deny  me,  but  .  .  .  art  thou 
willing  to  be  put  to  the  proof,  my  king?  " 

"  If  you've  any  means  of  proving  my  identity,  I 
would  thank  you  for  making  use  of  it,  Ranee." 

"  There  is  the  test  of  the  Token,  Lalji" 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  it." 

"  The  test  of  the  Token — the  ring  that  was  brought 
to  thee,  the  signet  of  thy  House.  Surely  thou  hast  it 
with  thee?  " 


264  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Since  that  night  in  Calcutta  Amber  had  resumed  his 
habit  of  carrying  the  Token  in  the  chamois  bag.  Now, 
on  the  reflection  that  it  had  been  given  him  for  a  special 
purpose,  which  had  been  frustrated  by  the  death  of 
Dhola  Baksh,  so  that  he  had  no  further  use  for  it,  he 
decided  against  the  counsels  of  prudence.  "  What's  the 
odds,"  he  asked  himself,  "  if  I  do  lose  it  ?  I  don't  want 
the  damn'  thing — it's  brought  me  nothing  but  trouble, 
thus  far."  And  he  thrust  a  hand  within  his  shirt  and 
brought  forth  the  emerald.  "  Here  it  is,"  he  told  the 
woman  cheerfully.  "  Now  this  test?  " 

"  Place  it  upon  thy  finger — so,  even  upon  thy  little 
finger,  as  was  thy  father's  wont  with  it.  Now  lift  up 
thine  arm,  so,  and  turn  the  stone  to  the  west,  toward 
Kathiapur." 

Without  comprehension  he  yielded  to  this  whim,  hold- 
ing up  his  right  arm  and  turning  the  emerald  to  the 
quarter  indicated  by  Naraini. 

The  hour  had  drawn  close  upon  dawn.  A  cold  air 
breathed  down  the  valley  and  was  chill  to  them  in  that 
lofty  eyrie.  The  moon,  dipping  towards  the  rim  of 
the  world,  was  poised,  a  globe  of  dull  silver,  upon  the 
ridge  of  a  far,  dark  hill.  As  they  watched  it  dropped 
out  of  sight  and  everything  was  suddenly  very  bleak  and 
black. 

And  a  curious  thing  happened. 

Naraini  cried  out  sharply — "  Aho!" — as  if  unable  to 
contain  her  excitement. 

Somewhere  in  the  palace  behind  them  a  great  gong 
boomed  like  thunder. 

A  pause  ensued,  disturbed  only  by  the  fluttering  of 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  265 

the  woman's  breath :  for  the  space  of  thirty  pulse-beats 
nothing  happened.  Then  Naraini's  fingers  closed  like 
bands  of  steel  about  Amber's  left  wrist. 

"  See !  "  she  cried  in  a  voice  of  awe,  while  the  brace- 
lets shivered  and  clashed  upon  her  outstretched  arm. 
"  The  Eye,  my  king,  the  Eye !  " 

Amber  shut  his  teeth  upon  an  exclamation  of  amaze. 
For  just  above  the  far,  dark  mountain  ridge,  uncannily 
brilliant  in  the  void  of  the  pale,  moonlit  firmament,  a 
light  had  blazed  out ;  a  vivid  emerald  light,  winking  and 
stabbing  the  darkness  with  shafts  of  seemingly  super- 
natural radiance. 

"  And  thy  ring,  lord— look !     The  Token !  " 

The  great  emerald  seemed  to  have  caught  and  to  be 
answering  the  light  Naraini  called  the  Eye;  in  the 
stone's  depths  an  infernal  fire  leaped  and  died  and 
leaped  again,  now  luridly  blazing,  now  fitfully  a-quiver 
as  though  about  to  vanish,  again  strong  and  steady: 
even  as  the  light  of  the  strange  emerald  star  above  the 
mountains  ebbed  and  flowed  through  the  night. 

Naraini  shuddered  and  cried  out  guardedly  for  very 
fear.  "  By  Indur,  it  is  even  as  the  Voice  foretold ! 
Nay,  Heaven-born  " — she  caught  his  sleeve  and  forcibly 
pulled  down  his  hand — "  tempt  not  the  Unseen  fur- 
ther. And  put  away  this  Token,  lest  a  more  terrible 
thing  befall  us.  There  be  mysteries  that  even  we  of  the 
initiate  may  not  comprehend,  my  lord.  It  is  not  well  to 
meddle  with  the  unknown." 

The  ring  was  off  his  finger  now  and  the  woman  was 
cramming  it  into  his  coat-pocket  with  tremulous  hands. 
And  where  the  Eye  had  shone,  the  sky  was  blank.  They 


266  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

stood  in  darkness,  Amber  mute  with  perplexity,  Naraini 
clinging  to  his  arm  and  shaking  like  a  reed  in  the  wind. 

"  Now  am  I  frightened,  lord  of  my  heart !  Lead  me 
back  to  the  garden,  for  I  am  but  a  woman  and  afraid. 
Who  am  I,  Naraini,  to  see  the  Eye?  What  am  I,  a 
weak  woman,  to  trespass  upon  the  Mysteries?  I  am 
very  much  afraid.  Do  thou  take  me  hence  and  comfort 
me,  my  king !  "  She  drew  his  arm  about  her  waist,  firm, 
round,  and  slender,  and  held  it  so,  her  body  yielding 
subtly  to  his,  her  head  drooping  wearily  upon  his 
shoulder. 

They  moved  slowly  from  the  turret  and  back  along 
the  lighted  walks  of  the  garden,  the  woman  apparently 
content,  Amber  preoccupied — to  tell  the  truth,  more 
troubled  than  he  would  have  been  willing  to  confess. 
As  for  the  intimacy  of  their  attitude,  he  was  tempo- 
rarily careless  of  it ;  it  meant  less  to  him  than  the  woman 
guessed.  It  seems  likely  that  she  inferred  a  conquest 
from  his  indifference,  for  when  they  had  come  back  to 
the  tank  of  the  gold-fish  beneath  the  banian  she  slipped 
from  his  embrace  and  confronted  him  with  a  face  afire 
with  elation. 

"  See  now  how  thou  art  altogether  controverted, 
Lalji!  "  she  cried  joyfully.  "  No  longer  canst  thou  per- 
sist that  thou  art  other  than  thy  true  self,  the  lord  of 
Naraini's  heart,  the  king  returned  to  his  kingdom.  ... 
For  who  would  dare  give  the  lie  to  the  Eye?  .  .  .  In- 
deed," she  continued  with  a  low,  sighing  laugh,  "  I  my- 
self had  begun  to  doubt,  my  faith  borne  down  and 
overcome  by  thy  repeated  denials ;  but  now  I  know  thee. 
Did  not  the  Bell  foretell  that  the  Eye  should  be  seen 


FROM  A  HIGH  PLACE  267 

of  men  only  when  Har  Dyal  Rutton  had  returned  to 
his  kingdom,  and  then  only  when  he  wore  the  Token? 
Even  as  it  was  said,  so  has  it  been.  .  .  .  And  now  art 
thou  prepared  to  go?  " 

"Whither?" 

"  To  Kathiawar — even  to  the  threshold  of  the  Gate- 
way? .  .  .  There  is  yet  time,  before  the  dawn,  and 
it  were  wise  to  go  quickly,  my  king;  but  for  one  night 
more  is  the  Gateway  open  to  receive  thee.  Thou  didst 
see  the  saddled  stallions  in  the  courtyard?  They  wait 
there  for  thee,  to  bear  thee  to  Kathiawar.  .  .  .  Nay, 
it  were  better  that  thou  shouldst  wait,  mayhap,  for  the 
hours  be  few  before  the  rising  of  the  sun.  Go  then  to 
thy  rest,  heart  of  my  heart,  since  thou  must  leave  me; 
and  this  night  we  shall  ride,  thou  and  I,  together  to  the 
Gateway." 

"  So  be  it,"  he  assented,  with  a  grave  inclination  of 
his  head.  Convinced  of  the  thanklessness  of  any  fur- 
ther attempt  to  convince  the  woman  against  her  will, 
he  gave  it  up,  and  was  grateful  for  the  respite  promised 
him.  In  twelve  or  eighteen  hours  he  might  accomplish 
much — with  the  aid  of  Labertouche.  At  worst  he  would 
find  some  means  to  communicate  with  the  Farrells  and 
then  seek  safety  for  himself  in  flight  or  hiding  until 
what  he  had  come  to  term  "  that  damned  Gateway- 
thing "  should  be  closed  and  he  be  free  to  resume  his 
strange  wooing.  Some  way,  somehow,  he  could  contrive 
to  extricate  himself  and  his  beloved. 

Therefore  he  told  the  woman :  "  Be  it  so,  O  Queen ! 
Now,  I  go." 

"  And  leave  me,"  she  pouted  prettily,  "  with  no  word 


268  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

but  that,  my  king?  Am  I  not  worth  a  caress — not  even 
when  I  beg  for  it?" 

He  smiled  down  at  her,  tolerant  and  amused,  and 
impulsively  caught  her  to  him.  "  The  point's  well 
taken,"  he  said.  "  Decidedly  you're  worth  it,  Naraini. 
And  if  you  were  not,  the  show  was !  " 

And  he  kissed  and  left  her,  all  in  a  breath. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUNRISE    FOB.    TWO 


AMBER  found  his  way  out  of  the  garden  without  dif- 
ficulty; at  the  doorway  an  eunuch  waited.  The  Maha- 
rana  himself,  perhaps  in  deference  to  the  dictates 
of  discretion,  did  not  reappear,  and  Amber  had  no 
desire  to  see  him  again.  He  was  eager  only  to  get 
away,  to  find  a  place  and  time  to  think,  and  to  get  into 
communication  with  Labertouche. 

The  eunuch  bowed  submissively  to  his  demand  to  be 
shown  out,  and  silently  led  him  down  through  the  echo- 
ing marble  corridors  and  galleries  of  the  many-tiered 
palace.  They  took  a  different  way  from  that  by  which 
Amber  had  ascended;  had  his  life  depended  on  it,  he 
could  not  have  found  his  way  back  to  the  garden  of 
Naraini,  but  by  accident. 

As  they  passed  through  the  lower  court  of  stables  he 
remarked  the  fact  that  the  stallions  were  being  led  away 
to  their  stalls.  The  circumstances  confirmed  Naraini's 
statement;  the  hour  of  their  usefulness  was  ended  for 
the  day — or,  rather,  for  the  night. 

The  Virginian  wondered  dully  if  ever  he  would  find 
himself  astride  one  of  the  superb  animals.  After  what 
he  had  witnessed  and  been  a  part  of  there  was  for  him 
no  longer  any  circumscribing  horizon  to  the  world  of 

269 


270  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

possibility.  For  him  the  improbable  no  longer  existed. 
He  had  met  the  incredible  face  to  face  and  found  it 
real. 

In  the  cavern-like  chamber  at  the  water-level  Dulla 
Dad  had  the  boat  in  readiness.  Amber  embarked,  not 
without  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  the  Mohammedan  with  his 
double-bladed  paddle  drove  the  boat  out  of  the  secret 
entrance,  in  an  impassive  silence.  In  the  stern  Amber 
watched  the  indefinite  grey  light  of  dawn  wavering  over 
the  face  of  the  waters  and  wondered  .  .  . 

The  boat  swung  in  gently  to  the  marble  steps  of  the 
bund.  Amber  rose  and  stepped  ashore,  very  tired  and 
very  much  inclined  to  believe  he  would  presently  wake 
up  to  a  sane  and  normal  world. 

"  Hazoor,"  the  voice  of  Dulla  Dad  hailed  him.  He 
turned.  "  Hazoor,  I  was  to  say  that  at  the  third  hour 
after  sunset  to-night  this  boat  will  be  in  waiting  here. 
You  are  to  call  me  by  name,  and  I  will  put  in  for  you, 
hazoor." 

"What's  that?  I  don't  understand.  ..  .  .  Oh, 
very  well." 

"  And  I  was  to  say  further,  my  lord,  these  words : 
'  You  shall  find  but  one  way  to  Kathiapur.' ' 

Amber  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "  If  you  don't  mind 
getting  yourself  disliked  on  my  account,  Dulla  Dad,  you 
may  take  back  to  the  author  of  that  epigram  this  an- 
swer :  *  You  shall  find  but  one  way  to  Jehannum,  and 
that  right  speedily.'  Good-morning,  Dulla  Dad." 

"  The  peace  of  God  abide  always  with  the  Heaven- 
born!" 

With  a  single,   strong  stroke  the  creature  of  the 


SUNRISE  FOR  TWO  271 

palace  sent  the  boat  skimming  far  out  from  the  bund, 
and,  turning,  headed  for  the  palace. 

Amber  entered  the  bungalow,  to  find  the  khansamah 
already  awake  and  moving  about.  At  the  Virginian's 
request  he  shuffled  off  to  prepare  coffee — much  coffee, 
very  strong  and  black  and  hot,  Amber  stipulated.  He 
needed  the  stimulant  badly.  He  was  sleepy  and  his 
head  was  in  a  whirl. 

He  sat  lost  in  thought  until  the  khansamah  brought 
the  decoction,  then  roused  and  drank  it  as  it  came  from 
the  pot,  without  sugar,  gulping  down  huge  bitter 
mouthfuls  of  the  scalding  black  fluid.  But  the  effect 
that  he  expected  and  desired  was  strangely  long  in  mak- 
ing itself  felt.  He  marvelled  at  his  drowsiness,  nodding 
and  blinking  over  his  empty  cup.  Out  of  doors  the  skies 
were  hot  and  blue-white  with  forerunners  of  the  sun, 
and  the  world  of  men  was  stirring  and  making  prepara- 
tion against  the  business  of  the  day;  but  Amber,  who 
had  a  work  so  serious  and  so  instant  to  his  hand,  sat  on 
in  dreamy  lethargy,  musing.  .  .  . 

The  faces  of  two  women  stood  out  vividly  against  the 
misty  formless  void  before  his  eyes :  the  face  of  Naraini 
and  that  of  Sophia  Farrell.  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other,  stupidly  contrasting  them,  trying  to  determine 
which  was  the  lovelier,  until  their  features  blurred  and 
ran  together  and  the  two  became  as  one  and  .  .  . 

The  khansamah  tiptoed  cautiously  into  the  room  and 
found  the  Virginian  sleeping  like  a  log,  his  head  upon 
the  table.  His  face  was  deeply  coloured  with  crimson, 
as  if  a  fever  burned  him,  and  his  breathing  was  loud 
and  stertorous. 


5TO  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Pausing,  the  native  beckoned  to  one  who  skulked  with- 
out, and  the  latter  entering,  the  two  laid  hold  of  the  un- 
conscious man  and  bore  him  to  the  charpoy.  The  second 
native  slipped  silver  money  into  the  khansamah's  palm. 

"  He  will  sleep  till  evening,"  he  said.  "  If  any  come 
asking  for  him,  say  that  he  has  gone  abroad,  leaving  no 
word.  More  than  this  you  do  not  know.  The  sepoys 
have  an  order  to  prevent  all  from  entrance." 

The  khansamah  touched  his  forehead  respectfully. 
"  It  is  an  order.  Shabash !  "  he  muttered. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  struck  in  through  the  window 
and  lay  stark  upon  the  sleeper's  face.  He  did  not  move. 
The  khansamah  drew  close  the  shades,  and  with  the 
other  left  the  room  in  semi-dusk. 


Beneath  the  spreading  banian,  by  the  cistern  of  the 
goldfish,  Naraini  with  smouldering  eyes  watched  Amber 
disappear  in  the  wilderness  of  shrubbery.  He  walked 
as  a  man  with  a  set  purpose,  never  glancing  back.  She 
laughed  uneasily  but  waited  motionless  where  he  had 
left  her,  until  the  echo  of  his  boot-heels  on  the  marble 
slabs  had  ceased  to  ring  in  the  neighbouring  corridor. 
Then,  lifting  a  flower-like  hand  to  her  mouth,  she 
touched  her  lips  gently  and  with  an  air  of  curiosity. 
The  resentment  in  her  eyes  gave  place  to  an  emotion  less 
superficial.  "  By  Indur  and  by  Har !  "  she  swore  softly. 
"  In  one  thing  at  least  he  is  like  a  Rajput:  he  kisses  as 
a  man  kisses." 

She  moved  indolently  along  the  walk  to  the  rug 
beneath  the  canopy  where  he  had  found  her,  her  lithe, 


SUNRISE  FOR  TWO  273 

languid,  round  body  in  its  gorgeous  draperies  no  whit 
less  insolent  than  the  flaming  bougainvillea  whose  glow- 
ing magenta  blossoms  she  touched  with  idle  fingers  as 
she  passed. 

The  east  was  grey  with  dusk  of  dawn — a  light  that 
grew  apace,  making  garish  the  illumination  of  the 
flickering,  smoking,  many-coloured  lamps  in  the  garden. 
Naraini  clapped  her  hands.  Soft  footsteps  sounded  in 
the  gallery  and  one  of  her  handmaidens  threaded  the 
shrubbery  to  her  side. 

"  The  lamps,  Unda,"  said  the  queen ;  "  their  light,  I 
think,  little  becomes  me.  Put  them  out."  And  when 
this  was  done,  she  composedly  ordered  her  pipe  and 
threw  herself  lazily  at  length  upon  a  pile  of  kincob 
cushions,  her  posture  the  more  careless  since  she  knew 
herself  secure  from  observation;  the  garden  being 
private  to  her  use. 

When  the  tire-woman  had  departed,  leaving  at 
Naraini's  side  a  small  silver  huqa  loaded  with  fine- 
cut  Lucknow  weed,  a  live  ember  of  charcoal  in  the 
middle  of  the  bowl,  she  sat  up  and  began  to 
smoke,  her  face  of  surpassing  loveliness  quaintly 
thoughtful  as  she  sucked  at  the  little  mouthpiece 
of  chased  silver  and  exhaled  faint  clouds  of  aromatic 
vapour.  From  time  to  time  she  smiled  pensively  and 
put  aside  the  tube  while  she  played  with  the  rings 
upon  her  slender,  petal-like  fingers;  five  rings  there 
were  to  each  hand,  from  the  heavy  thumb  circlet  that 
might  possibly  fit  a  man's  little  finger  to  the  tiny  band 
that  was  on  her  own,  all  linked  together  by  light  strands 
of  gold  radiating  from  the  big,  gem-encrusted  boss  of 


274  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ruddy  gold  midway  between  her  slim  round  waist  and 
dimpled  knuckles.  .  .  . 

The  tread  of  boots  with  jingling  spurs  sounded  in 
the  gallery,  warning  her.  She  sighed,  smiled  danger- 
ously to  herself,  and  carelessly  adjusted  her  veil,  leaving 
rather  more  than  half  her  face  bare.  Salig  Singh 
entered  the  garden  and  found  his  way  to  her,  towering 
over  her  beneath  the  canopy,  brave  in  his  green  and 
tinsel  uniform.  She  looked  up  with  a  listless  hauteur 
that  expressed  her  attitude  toward  the  man. 

"  Achchal "  she  said  sharply.  "  Thou  art  tardy, 
Heaven-born.  Yet  have  I  waited  for  thee  this  half- 
hour  gone,  heavy  with  sleep  though  I  be — waited  to 
know  the  pleasure  of  my  lord." 

There  was  a  mockery  but  faintly  disguised  in  her 
tone.  The  Maharana  seemed  to  find  it  not  unpleasant, 
for  he  smiled  grimly  beneath  his  moustache. 

"  There  was  work  to  be  done,"  he  said  briefly — "  for 
the  Cause.  And  thou — how  hast  thou  wrought,  O 
Breaker  of  Hearts  ?  " 

The  woman  cast  the  silver  mouthpiece  from  her  and 
clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head.  "  Am  I  not 
Naraini?  " 

"  The  man  is  ours  ?  " 

"  Mine,"  she  corrected  amiably.  His  face  darkened 
with  a  scowl  of  jealousy  and  she  laughed  in  open  de- 
rision. "  Were  I  Naraini  could  I  not  divine  the  heart 
of  a  man  ?  " 

"By  what  means?" 

"What  is  that  to  thee,  O  Heaven-born?"  She 
snuggled  her  body  complacently  into  the  luxurious  pile 


SUNRISE  FOR  TWO  275 

of  cushions.  "  If  I  have  accomplished  the  task  thou 
didst  set  for  me,  what  concern  hast  thou  with  the  means 
I  did  employ?  Thou  art  only  Salig  Singh,  Maharana 
of  Khandawar,  but  I  am  Naraini,  a  free  woman." 

"  Thou ! "    Rage  choked  the  Rajput.     "  Thou," 

he  sputtered — "  thou  art " 

"  Softly,  Heaven-born,  softly — lest  I  loose  a  thun- 
derbolt for  thy  destruction.  Is  it  wise  to  forget  that 
Naraini  holds  thy  fate  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands?" 
She  sat  forward,  speaking  swiftly  and  with  malice. 
"  Thou  art  pledged  to  produce  Har  Dyal  Rutton  in  the 
Hall  of  the  Bell  before  another  sunrise,  and  none  but 
Naraini  knows  to  what  a  perilous  resort  thou  art  driven 
to  redeem  thy  word." 

"  I  was  lied  to,"  he  argued  sullenly.  "  A  false  tale 
was  brought  me — by  one  who  hath  repented  of  his 
error !  If  I  was  told  that  Har  Dyal  Rutton  would  be 
in  India  upon  such-and-such  a  day,  am  I  to  blame  that 
I  did  promise  to  bring  him  to  the  Gateway?  " 

"  And  seeing  that  the  man  is  dead,  art  thou  to  blame 
for  bringing  in  his  place  a  substitute,  even  so  poor  a 
changeling  as  this  man  Amber?  Nay,  be  not  angry; 
do  I  blame  thee?  Have  I  done  aught  but  serve  thee  to 
the  end  thou  dost  desire?  .  .  .  Thou  shouldst  be  grate- 
ful to  me,  rather  than  menace  me  with  thine  anger.  .  .  . 
And,"  she  added  sweetly,  "  it  were  well  for  thee  that 
thou  shouldst  bear  always  in  mind  my  intimacy  with  thy 
secret.  If  thou  art  king,  then  am  I  more  than  queen, 
in  Khandawar." 

"  I  am  not  angry,  Naraini,"  he  told  her  humbly, 
"  but  mad  with  love  for  thee " 


276  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"And  lust,  my  lord,  for — power,"  she  interpolated. 

"  But  if  what  thou  hast  said  be  true " 

"  '  Who  lies  to  the  King,  is  already  a  dead  man.' 
Why  should  I  trouble  to  deceive  thee,  Heaven-born?  I 
tell  thee,  the  man  is  won.  The  day  shall  declare  it :  this 
night  will  he  ride  with  me  to  Kathiapur.  Why  didst 
thou  not  tarry  to  eavesdrop?  Indeed  thou  hast  lost  an 
opportunity  that  may  never  a  second  time  be  thine — to 
learn  of  the  wiles  of  woman." 

"  There  was  work  to  be  done,"  he  repeated.  "  I 
went  to  take  measures  against  thy  failure." 

"  O  thou  of  little  faith !  " 

"  Nay,  why  should  I  neglect  proper  precautions  ? 
Whether  thy  confidence  be  justified  or  no,  this  night 
will  Har  Dyal  Rutton — or  one  like  him — endure  the 
Ordeal  of  the  Gateway." 

"  So  I  have  told  thee,"  she  assented  equably.  "  He 
will  come,  because  Naraini  bids  him." 

"  It  may  be  so.  If  not,  another  lure  shall  draw 
him." 

She  started  with  annoyance.  "  The  Englishwoman 
of  the  picture?  " 

"  Have  I  named  her  ?  "  He  lifted  his  heavy  brows  in 
affected  surprise. 

"  Nay,  but " 

"  Secret  for  secret,"  he  offered :  "  mine  for  thine.  Is 
it  a  bargain,  O  Pearl  of  Khandawar?  " 

"  Keep  thy  silly  secret,  then,  as  I  will  keep  mine  own 
counsel,"  she  said,  with  assumed  disdain.  It  was  no  part 
of  wisdom,  in  her  understanding,  to  tell  him  of  her  in- 
terview with  Amber.  A  man's  jealousy  is  a  potent 


SUNRISE  FOR  TWO  277 

weapon  in  a  woman's  hands,  but  must  be  wielded  with 
discretion. 

He  was  persistent :  "  I  will  back  my  plan  against 
thine,  Ranee." 

"  So  be  it,"  she  said  shortly.  "  Whichever  wins,  the 
stake  is  won  for  both.  What  doth  it  matter  ?  " 

She  rose  and  moved  impatiently  down  the  walk  and 
back  again,  bangles  tinkling,  jewels  radiant  on  wrist 
and  brow,  ankle  and  bosom.  The  man  watched  her 
with  sulky  eyes  until  she  turned,  then  bent  his  head  and 
stood  glowering  at  the  earth  and  twisting  his  moustache. 
She  paused  before  him,  hands  on  hips,  and  raised  her 
eyes  in  silent  inquiry.  He  pretended  not  to  notice  her. 
She  sighed  with  a  pretence  of  humility  thinly  disguised. 
"  Thy  trouble,  my  lord?  "  she  rallied  him. 

"  I  have  wondered,"  he  said  heavily:  "  will  he  pass?  " 

"  If  not,  it  were  well  for  thee  to  die  this  night,  O 
Heaven-born." 

"  That  was  my  thought." 

"  Thou  hast  little  need  to  worry,  lord."  Woman-like 
she  shifted  to  suit  his  humour.  "  He  is  a  man :  I  an- 
swer for  that,  though  ...  he  is  no  fool.  Still,  when 
the  hour  strikes,  what  he  must,  that  will  he  endure  for 
the  sake  of  that  which  Naraini  hath  promised  him." 

"  Or  for  another,"  Salig  Singh  growled  into  his 
beard. 

"  I  did  not  hear." 

"  I  said  naught.    I  am  distraught." 

"  Be  of  good  heart,"  she  comforted  him  still  further. 
"  If  he  doth  fail  to  survive  the  Ordeal — Har  Dyal  Rut- 
ton  hath  died.  If  he  doth  survive " 


278  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Har  Dyal  Rutton  shall  die  within  the  hour,"  Salig 
Singh  concluded  grimly.  "  But  ...  I  am  troubled. 
I  cannot  but  ask  myself  continually:  Were  it  not  wiser 
to  confess  failure  and  abide  the  outcome?  " 

"  How  long  wouldst  thou  abide  the  outcome,  my 
king,  after  thou  hadst  informed  the  Council  of  this  de- 
ception to  which  thou  hast  been  too  willing  and  ready  a 
party?  .  .  .  He  who  misled  you  died  a  dog's  death. 
But  thou — art  thou  in  love  with  death?  " 

"  Unless  thy  other  name  be  Death,  Naraini  .  .  ." 

"  Or  if  the  Council  should  spare  thee — as  is  unlikely? 
The  patience  of  the  Body  is  as  the  patience  of  Kings — 
scant ;  and  its  mercy  is  like  unto  its  patience.  .  .  .  But 
say  thou  art  spared:  what  then?  How  long  art  thou 
prepared  to  wait  until  the  Members  of  the  Body  shall 
again  be  in  such  complete  accord  as  now?  When  again 
shall  all  Hindustan  be  ripe  for  revolt?  .  .  .  Ahol 
Thou  wouldst  have  sweet  patience  in  the  waiting,  Salig 
Singh !  .  .  .  Let  matters  rest  as  they  be,  my  lord  " — - 
this  a  trace  imperiously.  "  Leave  the  man  to  me :  I 
stand  sponsor  for  him  until  the  Gateway  shall  have 
received  him  and — and  perhaps  for  a  little  after- 
wards." 

"  Thou  art  right  as  ever."  He  lifted  his  gaze  to 
meet  hers  and  his  eyes  flamed.  "  I  leave  my  life  on  your 
knees,  Naraini.  I  love  thee  and  ...  by  all  the  gods, 
thou  art  altogether  a  woman  !  " 

"  And  thou  ...  a  man,  your  Highness? "  she 
countered  provokingly.  "  Nay !  "  she  continued,  evad- 
ing him  with  a  supple  squirm,  "  be  content  until  this 
affair  be  consummated.  Wait  until  the  time  when  an 


SUNRISE  FOR  TWO  279 

empress  shall  reign  over  all  Bharuta  and  thou,  my  lord, 
shall  be  her  Minister  of  State." 

The  man's  voice  shook.  "  That  hour  is  not  far  off, 
my  queen.  Thou  wilt  not  keep  me  waiting  longer?  " 

She  gave  him  the  quick  promise  of  her  eyes.  "  Thou 
shouldst  know — thou  of  all  men,  my  lord.  .  .  .  But 
see ! "  It  was  necessary  to  distract  him  and  she  seized 
hastily  upon  the  first  pretext.  "  The  last  day  of  the 
old  order  dawns  .  .  .  and  the  dawn  is  crimson,  my 
lord,  as  with  blood ! "  Her  soft  scarlet  lips  curled 
thirstily  and  showed  her  teeth,  small,  sharp  and  white 
as  pearls.  "  I  think,"  she  added  with  somber  convic- 
tion, "  this  omen  is  propitious !  " 

She  swept  away  from  him,  toward  the  parapet.  He 
took  a  single  step  in  pursuit  and  halted,  following  her 
with  a  glance  that  was  at  once  a  caress  and  a  threat. 

She  paused  only  when  she  could  go  no  further,  and 
stood  in  silent  waiting. 

Deep  down  in  the  valley  the  city  was  stirring  from 
its  sleep;  the  dull  and  peaceful  humming  of  its  hived 
hordes  rose  to  her,  pulsating  in  the  still  air.  Above  the 
eastern  ridge  the  sky  was  hot  and  angry,  banded  with 
magneta,  scarlet,  and  cadmium,  and  shot  with  expand- 
ing shafts  of  fierce  radiance,  like  ribs  of  a  fan  of  fire. 
In  a  long  and  breathless  instant  of  suspense  the  hilltops 
blushed  with  the  glare  and  threw  down  the  light  to  the 
night  mists  swimming  in  the  valley,  rendering  them 
opalescent,  as  with  a  heart  of  flame. 

With  eyes  half-veiled  by  long  languorous  lashes  the 
woman  threw  back  her  head  until  her  swelling  throat 
was  tense.  She  raised  her  arms  and  stretched  them 


280  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

wide.  The  sun,  soaring  suddenly,  a  crimson  disk  above 
the  ridge,  seemed  to  strike  fire  from  her  strange,  savage 
beauty  as  from  a  jewel.  Bathed  in  its  ruddy  glare  she 
seemed  to  embody  in  her  frail,  slight  form  all  that  was 
singular  to  that  cruel,  passionate  land  of  fire  and  steel. 
Her  face  became  suffused,  her  blood  leaping  in  response 
to  the  ardour  of  the  sun. 

Her  parted  lips  moved,  but  the  man,  who  had  drawn 
near  enough  to  hear,  caught  two  words  only. 

"  Naraini!  .  .  .  Empress!  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    WAY   TO    KATHIAPUR 

GALL  and  wormwood  in  his  mouth,  more  bitter  than  re- 
morse, Amber  became  conscious.  Or  perhaps  it  were 
more  true  to  say  that  he  struggled  out  of  unconscious- 
ness, dragging  his  ego  back  by  main  will-power  from 
the  deep  oblivion  of  drugged  slumber.  One  by  one  his 
faculties  fought  their  way  past  the  barrier,  until  he  was 
fully  sentient,  save  that  his  memory  drowsed.  His  head 
was  hot  and  heavy,  his  eyes  burned  in  their  sockets  like 
balls  of  live  charcoal,  a  dulled  buzzing  sounded  in  his 
ears,  his  very  heart  felt  sore  and  numb ;  he  was  as  one 
who  wakes  from  evil  dreams  to  the  blackness  of  fore- 
known despair. 

He  lay  for  a  time  without  moving.  Because  it  was 
dark  and  his  memory  not  working  properly,  time  had 
ceased  to  be  for  him,  and  to-day  was  as  yesterday  and 
to-morrow.  The  ceiling-cloth  above  him  was  blood-red 
with  light  from  the  sepoys'  fire  in  the  compound,  and 
all  was  as  it  had  been  when  he  had  first  lain  down  the 
night  before.  And  yet  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  raised  himself  upon  the  charpoy  and 
called  huskily  for  the  khansamah.  Promptly  the  squat 
white  figure  that  he  remembered  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. "  Bring  lights,"  Amber  ordered,  peremptory. 
"  Bring  lights  quickly — and  water."  And  when  the 
man  had  returned  with  a  lamp,  which  he  put  on  the 

281 


282  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

table,  Amber  seized  the  red  earthenware  water- jug  and 
drained  it  greedily.  Returning  it,  empty,  to  the  brown 
hands,  he  motioned  to  the  man  to  wait,  while  he  con- 
sulted his  watch.  It  had  run  down.  He  thrust  it  back 
into  his  pocket  and  enquired:  "  What's  o'clock?  " 

"  Eight  of  the  evening,  sahib." 

Amber  gasped  and  stared.  "  Eight  of  the  .  .  .  Let 
me  think.  Go  and  bring  me  food  and  a  brandy-peg — 
or,  hold  on !  Bring  a  bottle  of  soda-water  and  a  glass 
only." 

The  khansamah  withdrew.  Amber  fell  back  with  his 
shoulders  to  the  wall  and  stared  unwinking  at  the  lamp. 
He  distinctly  remembered  undressing  before  going  to 
bed;  he  now  found  himself  fully  clothed.  He  felt  of 
his  pocket,  and  found  the  emerald  ring  there,  instead  of 
in  its  chamois  case.  Then  it  had  not  been  a  nightmare ! 

He  had  a  bottle  of  brandy  which  had  never  been  un- 
corked, in  his  travelling-kit.  Rising,  he  found  it  and 
inspected  the  cork  narrowly  to  make  sure  it  had  not 
been  tampered  with ;  then  he  drew  it. 

The  khansamah  returned  with  the  glass  and  an  un- 
opened bottle  of  Schweppe's,  and  prepared  the  drink 
under  eyes  that  watched  him  narrowly.  While  Amber 
drank  he  laid  a  place  for  him  at  the  table.  When  he 
left  the  room  a  second  time  the  Virginian  produced  his 
automatic  pistol  and  satisfied  himself  that  it  remained 
loaded  and  in  good  working  order. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  the  native  reappeared 
with  a  tray  of  food  and  pot  of  coffee.  These  ar- 
ranged, he  stood  by  the  chair,  ready  to  serve  the  guest. 
Then  he  found  himself  looking  into  the  muzzle  of 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  283 

Amber's  weapon,  and  became  apparently  rigid  with 
terror. 

"Sahib !" 

"  Make  no  outcry,  dog,  and  tell  me  no  lies,  if  you 
value  your  contemptible  life.  Why  did  you  drug  me — 
at  whose  instance?  " 

"  Sahib !  .  .  .  " 

"  Answer  me  quickly,  son  of  vipers !  " 

"  By  Dhola  Baksh,  hazoor,  I  am  innocent !  Another 
has  done  these  things — he  who  served  you  last  night, 
belike,  and  whose  place  I  have  taken." 

Now  the  oaths  of  India  are  many  and  various,  so  that 
a  new  specimen  need  not  be  held  wonderful.  But  Amber 
sat  bolt  upright,  his  eyes  widening  and  his  jaw  drop- 
ping. "  Dhola !  "  he  said,  and  brought  his  teeth 

together  with  an  audible  click,  staring  at  the  khansamah 
as  if  he  were  a  recrudescence  of  a  prehistoric  mammal. 
He  caught  a  motion  of  the  head  and  a  wave  of  the  hand 
toward  the  window,  warning  him  that  there  might  be  an 
eavesdropper  lurking  without,  and  rose  admirably  to 
the  emergency. 

"  That  is  a  lie,  misbegotten  son  of  an  one-eyed  woman 
of  shame!  By  the  Gateway  at  Kathiapur,  that  is  a 
lie!  Speak,  brother  of  jackals  and  father  of  swine, 
lest  my  temper  overcome  me  and  I  make  carrion  of 
you ! " 

"  My  lord,  hear  me ! "  protested  the  man  in  an  ex- 
tremity of  fright.  "  These  be  the  words  of  truth.  If 
otherwise,  let  my  head  be  forfeit.  .  .  .  Early  in  the 
morning  you  returned  from  the  lake,  heavy  with  sleep, 
and  so  soundly  have  you  slept  since  that  hour  that  no 


284  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

effort  of  mine  could  rouse  you,  though  many  came  to 
the  door,  making  inquiry.  I  am  Ram  Lai,  a  true  man, 
and  no  trafficker  in  drugs  and  potions." 

"  Even  so !  "  said  Amber,  ironic.  "  But  if,  on  taking 
thought,  I  find  you've  lied  to  me  .  .  .Go  now  and 
hold  yourself  fortunate  in  this,  that  I  am  not  a  man  of 
hasty  judgment." 

"  Hazoor ! "  Like  a  shadow  harried  by  a  wind  of 
night,  the  khansamah  scurried  from  the  room.  But  on 
the  threshold  he  paused  long  enough  to  lay  a  significant 
finger  upon  his  lips  and  nod  toward  the  table. 

Amber  put  away  his  pistol,  sighed  from  the  bottom  of 
his  soul,  and,  seating  himself,  without  the  least  mis- 
giving, broke  his  long  fast  with  ravenous  appetite, 
clearing  every  dish  and  emptying  the  coffee  pot  of  all 
save  dregs.  Then,  with  a  long  yawn  of  satisfaction, 
repletion,  and  relief,  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  stretched 
himself,  happily  conscious  of  returning  strength  and 
sanity. 

From  the  khansamah's  quarters  came  an  occasional 
clash  of  crockery  and  pattering  of  naked  feet.  Out- 
side, in  the  compound,  the  sepoys  were  chattering  volu- 
bly ;  their  words  were  indistinguishable,  but  from  their 
constantly  increasing  animation  Amber  inferred  that 
they  were  keenly  relishing  the  topic  of  discussion.  He 
became  sure  of  this  when,  at  length,  his  curiosity  roused, 
he  went  to  the  window  and  peered  out  between  the 
wooden  slats  of  the  blind.  The  little  company  was 
squatting  in  a  circle  round  the  fire,  and  a  bottle  was 
passing  from  hand  to  hand. 

He    turned   back,    puzzled,    to   find    the    khansamah 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  285 

calmly  seated  at  the  table  and  enjoying  one  of  Amber's 
choicest  cigarettes. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said,  with  profound  emotion,  "  for 
a  civilised  smoke !  " 

"  Labertouche !  "   cried  Amber. 

The  pseudo-khansamah  rose,  bowed  formally,  and 
shook  hands  with  considerable  cordiality.  "  It's  good 
to  see  you  whole  and  sound,"  he  said.  "  I  had  to  wait 
until  Ram  Nath's  work  began  to  show  results.  He's  out 
there,  you  know,  keeping  the  bottle  moving.  I  don't  be- 
lieve those  damned  sepoys  will  bother  us  much,  now,  but 
we've  got  no  time  at  all  to  spare.  Now  tell  me  what 
you  have  to  tell,  omitting  nothing  of  the  slightest  corn- 
sequence." 

Amber  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  the  Englishman  sat 
near  to  him.  "  I  say,  thank  God  for  you,  Laber- 
touche! You  don't  know  how  I've  needed  you." 

"  I  can  fancy.  I've  had  a  ripping  time  of  it  myself. 
Sorry  I  couldn't  communicate  with  you  safely  before 
you  left  Calcutta.  But  we've  not  a  minute  to  waste. 
Get  into  your  yarn,  please;  explanations  later,  if  we 
can  afford  'em." 

Inhaling  with  deep  enjoyment,  he  narrowed  his  dark 
eyes,  listening  intently  to  Amber's  concise  narrative  of 
his  experiences  since  their  parting  before  the  stall  of 
Dhola  Baksh  in  the  Machua  Bazaar.  Not  once  was 
he  interrupted  by  word  or  sign  from  Labertouche ;  and 
even  when  the  tale  was  told  the  latter  said  nothing,  but 
dropped  his  gaze  abstractedly  to  the  smouldering  stump 
of  his  cigarette. 

"  And  you?  "  demanded  the  Virginian.     "  Have  pity, 


286  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Labertouche!  Can't  you  see  I'm  being  eaten  alive  by 
curiosity  ?  " 

Labertouche  eyed  him  blankly  for  an  instant. 
"  Oh ! "  he  said,  with  an  effort  freeing  his  mind  from 
an  intense  concentration  of  thought.  "  I?  What's 
there  to  tell?  I've  been  at  work.  That's  all.  .  .  . 
I  was  jostled  off  to  one  side  when  the  row  started 
in  the  bazaar,  and  so  lost  you.  There  was  then 
nothing  to  do  but  strike  back  to  the  hotel  and  wait  for  a 
clue.  You  can  figure  my  relief  when  you  dropped  out 
of  that  ticca-ghari!  I  gave  you  the  word  to  go  on  to 
Darjeeling,  intending  to  join  you  en  route.  But  you 
know  why  that  jaunt  never  came  off.  I  found  out  my 
mistake  before  morning,  wired  you,  and  left  Calcutta 
before  you,  by  the  same  train  that  conveyed  his  Majesty 
the  Maharana  of  Khandawar.  Fortunately  enough 
we  had  Ram  Nath  already  on  the  ground,  working  up 
another  case — I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  time.  He's 
one  of  our  best  men — a  native,  but  loyal  to  the  core, 
and  wrapped  up  in  his  work.  He'd  contrived  to  get  a 
billet  as  tonga-wallah  to  the  Kuttarpur  bunia  who  has 
the  dak-service  contract.  I  myself  had  arranged  to 
have  the  telegraph-babu  here  transferred,  and  myself 
appointed  in  his  place.  So  I  was  able  to  attach  myself 
to  the  '  tail '  of  the  Maharana  without  exciting  com- 
ment. Miss  Farrell  came  by  the  same  train,  but  Salig 
Singh  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  get  home  to  pay  any 
attention  to  her,  and  I,  knowing  you'd  be  along,  ar- 
ranged that  tonga  accident  with  Ram  Nath.  He  bribed 
his  brother  tonga-wallah  to  bring  it  about." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Amber  from  his  heart. 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  287 

Labertouche  impatiently  waved  the  interruption 
aside.  "  I  looked  for  you  at  the  telegraph  office  this 
morning,  but  of  course  when  you  didn't  appear  I  knew 
something  was  up.  So  I  concocted  a  message  to  you 
for  an  excuse,  came  down,  engaged  the  khansamah  in 
conversation  (I  think  he  had  some  idea  I  was  an  agent 
of  the  other  side)  and  .  .  .  he  is  an  old  man,  not  very 
strong.  Once  indoors,  I  had  little  trouble  with  him. 
He's  now  enjoying  perfect  peace,  with  a  gag  to  insure 
it,  beneath  his  own  charpoy.  Ram  Nath  happened 
along  opportunely  and  created  a  diversion  with  his  gin- 
bottle.  That  seems  to  be  all,  and  I'm  afraid  we  mayn't 
talk  much  longer.  I  must  be  going — and  so  must  you." 

He  glanced  anxiously  at  his  watch — a  cheap  and 
showy  thing,  such  as  natives  delight  in.  Both  men  rose. 

"You  return  to  the  telegraph  station,  I  presume?" 
said  Amber. 

"  Not  at  all.     It  wouldn't  be  worth  my  while." 

"How's  that?" 

"  The  wires  haven't  been  working  since  ten  this  morn- 
ing," said  Labertouche  quietly. 

Amber  steadied  himself  with  the  back  of  his  chair. 
"  You  mean  they've  been  cut  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort." 

"  And  that  means ; 

"  That  this  infernal  conspiracy  is  scheduled  to  come 
to  a  head  to-night — as  you  must  have  inferred,  my  dear 
fellow:  this  is  the  last  night  of  your  probation.  The 
cutting  off  of  Khandawar  from  all  British  India  is  a  bold 
move  and  shows  Salig  Singh's  confidence.  It  means 
simply :  *  Governmental  interference  not  desired.  Hands 


288  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

off.'  He  knows  well  that  we've  spies  here,  that  enough 
has  leaked  out,  unavoidably,  to  bring  an  army  corps 
down  on  his  back  within  twenty-four  hours,  if  he  per- 
mitted even  the  most  innocent-seeming  message  to  get 
out  of  the  city." 

Amber  whistled  with  dismay.     "  And  you " 

*  I'm  going  to  find  out  for  myself  what's  towards  in 
Kathiapur." 

"  You're  going  there — alone?  " 

"  Not  exactly ;  I  shall  have  company.  A  gentleman 
of  the  Mohammedan  persuasion  is  going  to  change 
places  with  me  for  the  night.  No;  he  doesn't  know  it 
yet,  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  got  an  R.  S. 
V.  P.  for  the  festive  occasion  and  intends  to  put  in  a 
midnight  appearance.  So  I  purpose  saving  him  the 
trouble.  It's  only  a  two-hour  ride." 

"But  the  risk!" 

Labertouche  chuckled  grimly.  "  It's  the  day's  work, 
my  boy.  I'm  not  sure  I  shan't  enjoy  it.  Besides,  I 
mayn't  hang  back  where  my  subordinates  have  not 
feared  to  go.  We've  had  a  man  in  Kathiapur  since  day 
before  yesterday." 

"  And  I?     What  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Your  place  is  at  Miss  Farrell's  side.  No ;  you'd  be 
only  a  hindrance  to  me.  Get  that  out  of  your  thoughts. 
Three  years  ago  I  found  time  to  make  a  pretty  thorough 
exploration  of  Kathiapur,  and,  being  blessed  with  an 
excellent  memory,  I  shall  be  quite  at  home." 

Amber  made  a  gesture  of  surrender.  "  Of  course 
you're  right,"  he  said.  "  You're  always  right,  confound 
you!" 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  289 

"  Exactly,"  agreed  Labertouche,  smiling.  "  I'm  only 
here  to  help  you  escape  to  the  Residency.  Raikes  and 
Colonel  Farrell  have  already  been  advised  to  make  prep- 
arations for  a  siege  or  for  instant  flight,  if  I  give  the 
word.  They  need  you  far  more  than  I  shall.  It  would 
be  simple  madness  for  you  to  venture  to  Kathiapur  to- 
night. The  case  is  clear  enough  for  you  to  see  the 
folly  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  It  may  be  clear  to  you    ..." 

"  See  here,"  said  Labertouche,  with  pardonable  impa- 
tience ;  "  I'm  presuming  that  you  know  enough  of  In- 
dian history  to  be  aware  that  the  Rutton  dynasty  in 
Khandawar  is  the  proudest  and  noblest  in  India ;  it  has 
descended  in  right  line  from  the  Sun.  There's  not  a 
living  Hindu  but  will  acknowledge  its  supremacy,  be  he 
however  ambitious.  That  makes  it  plain,  or  ought  to, 
why  Har  Dyal  Rutton,  the  last  male  of  his  line,  was — 
and  is — considered  the  natural,  the  inevitable,  leader  of 
the  Second  Mutiny.  It  devolved  upon  Salig  Singh  to 
produce  him;  Salig  Singh  promised  and — is  on  the 
point  of  failure.  I  can't  say  precisely  what  penalty 
he'll  be  called  upon  to  pay,  but  it's  safe  to  assume  that 
it'll  be  something  everlastingly  unpleasant.  So  he's 
desperate.  I  can't  believe  he  has  deceived  himself  into 
taking  you  for  Rutton,  but  whether  or  no  he  intends  by 
%hook  or  crook  to  get  you  through  this  Gateway  affair 
to-night.  He's  got  to.  Now  you  are — or  Rutton  is — 
known  to  be  disloyal  to  the  scheme.  Inevitably,  then, 
the  man  who  passes  through  that  Gateway  in  his  name 
is  to  be  quietly  eliminated  before  he  can  betray  anything 
— in  other  words,  as  soon  as  he  has  been  put  through 


290  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  '  Ordeal,'  as  they  call  it,  for  the  sake  of  appearances 
and  the  moral  effect  upon  the  Hindu  race  at  large.  Now 
I  think  you  understand." 

"  I  think  I  do,  thanks,"  Amber  returned  drily. 
"  You're  quite  right,  as  I  said  before.  So  I'm  off  to 
the  Residency.  But  how  to  get  through  that  guard 
out  there?  " 

He  received  no  response.  In  as  little  time  as  it  took 
him  to  step  backwards  from  Amber,  Labertouche 
had  resumed  his  temporarily  discarded  masquerade.  In- 
stantaneously it  was  the  khansamah  who  confronted  the 
Virginian — the  native  with  head  and  shoulders  submis- 
sively bended,  as  one  who  awaits  an  order. 

Amber,  surprised,  stared,  started  to  speak,  received  a 
sign,  and  was  silent,  the  excuse  for  Labertouche's  sudden 
change  of  attitude  being  sufficiently  apparent  in  an  up- 
roar which  had  been  raised  without  the  least  warning 
in  the  compound.  The  advent  of  a  running  horse 
seemed  to  have  been  responsible  for  it,  for  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  as  the  animal  was  checked  abruptly  in  mid-stride 
was  followed  by  a  clamour  of  drunken  cries,  shrieks  of 
alarm,  and  protests  on  the  part  of  the  sepoys  disturbed 
in  the  midst  of  their  carouse.  Over  all  this  there  rang 
the  voice  of  an  Englishman  swearing  good,  round,  hon- 
est British  oaths. 

"  Stand  aside,  you  hounds  !  " 

Amber  turned  pale.  "  That's  Farrell's  voice !  "  he 
cried,  guessing  at  the  truth. 

Labertouche  made  no  answer,  but  edged  toward  the 
khansamah's  quarters. 

The  din  subsided  as  Farrell  gained  the  veranda.     His 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  291 

feet  rang  heavily  on  the  boards,  and  a  second  later  he 
thrust  the  door  violently  open  and  slammed  breathlessly 
into  the  room,  booted,  spurred,  his  keen  old  face  livid, 
a  riding-whip  dangling  from  one  wrist,  a  revolver  in 
the  other  hand. 

He  wheeled  on  the  threshold  and  lifted  his  weapon, 
then,  with  a  gasp  of  amazement,  dropped  it.  "  By 
Heaven,  sir !  "  he  cried,  "  that's  odd !  Those  damned 
sepoys  tried  to  prevent  my  seeing  you  and  now  they've 
cleared  out,  every  mother's  son  of  them ! " 

Amber  stepped  to  his  side;  to  his  own  bewilderment, 
the  compound  was  deserted;  there  was  not  a  sepoy  in 
sight. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  he  said  quickly,  the  first  to 
recover.  "  What's  wrong,  sir?  " 

"  Wrong !  "  Farrell  stumbled  over  to  the  table  and 
into  a  chair,  panting.  "  Everything's  wrong !  What's 
gone  wrong  with  you,  that  we  haven't  been  able  to  find 
you  all  day  ?  " 

"  I've  been  lying  there,"  Amber  told  him,  nodding  to 
the  charpoy,  "  drugged.  What's  happened?  Is  Miss 
Farrell ?  " 

"  Sophia !  "  The  Political  lifted  his  hand  to  his  eyes 
and  let  it  fall,  with  an  effect  of  confusion.  "  In  the 
name  of  charity  tell  me  you  know  where  she  is ! " 

"  You  don't  mean " 

"  She's  gone,  Amber — gone !  She's  disappeared,  van- 
ished, been  spirited  away!  Don't  you  understand  me? 
She's  been  kidnapped !  " 

In  dumb  torment,  Amber  heard  a  swift,  sharp  hiss 
of  breath  as  pregnant  with  meaning  as  a  spoken  word, 


292  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

and  turned  to  meet  Labertouche's  eyes,  and  to  see  that 
the  same  thought  was  in  both  their  minds.  Salig  Singh 
had  found  the  way  to  lure  Amber  to  Kathiapur. 

No  spoken  word  was  needed ;  their  understanding  was 
implicit  on  the  instant.  Indeed  the  secret-agent  dared 
not  speak,  lest  he  be  overheard  by  an  eavesdropper  and 
so  be  the  cause  of  his  own  betrayal.  With  a  flutter  of 
white  garments  he  slipped  noiselessly  from  the  room, 
and  Amber  knew  instinctively  that  if  they  were  to  meet 
again  that  night  it  would  be  upon  the  farther  side  of  the 
Gateway  of  Swords.  For  himself,  his  path  of  duty  lay 
clear  to  the  Virginian's  vision;  like  Labertouche's,  it 
was  the  road  to  Kathiapur.  He  had  no  more  doubt  that 
Sophia  had  been  conveyed  thither  than  he  had  of  Far- 
rell's  presence  before  him.  And  in  his  heart  he  cursed, 
not  Naraini,  not  Salig  Singh,  but  himself  for  his  inept 
folly  in  bringing  to  India  the  photograph  which  had 
been  stolen  from  him  and  so  had  discovered  to  the  con- 
spirators his  interest  in  the  girl. 

He  thought  swiftly  of  Dulla  Dad's  parting  admoni- 
tion: "  You  shall  find  but  one  way  to  Kathiapur." 

"  Well,  sir?  Well? "  Exasperated  by  his  silence 
the  Political  sprang  to  his  feet  and  brought  the  riding- 
crop  against  his  leg  with  a  smack  like  a  gun-shot. 
"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  Don't  you  realise  what  it. 
means  when  a  white  woman  disappears  in  this  land  of 
devils  ?  Good  God !  you  stand  there,  doing  nothing,  say- 
ing nothing,  like  a  man  with  a  heart  of  stone !  " 

"  Speak  French,"  Amber  interposed  quietly.  He  con- 
tinued in  that  tongue,  his  tone  so  steady  and  imperative 
that  it  brought  the  half-frantic  Englishman  to  his 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  293 

senses.  "  Speak  French.  You  must  know  that  we're 
spied  upon  every  instant;  every  word  we  speak  is  over- 
heard, probably.  Tell  me  what  happened — how  it  hap- 
pened— and  keep  cool !  " 

"  You're  right ;  I  beg  your  pardon."  Farrell  col- 
lected himself.  "  There's  little  enough  to  go  on.  .  .  . 
You  disappointed  us  this  morning.  During  the  day 
we  got  word  from  a  secret  but  trustworthy  source  to 
look  out  for  trouble  from  the  native  side.  Nevertheless, 
Raikes  and  I  were  obliged,  by  reason  of  our  position, 
representing  Government,  to  attend  the  banquet  in  honor 
of  the  coronation  to-morrow.  We  called  in  young  Clark- 
son — the  missionary,  you  know — to  stay  in  the  house 
during  our  absence.  When  we  returned  the  Residency 
was  deserted — only  we  found  Clarkson  bound,  gagged, 
and  nearly  dead  of  suffocation  in  a  closet.  He  could  tell 
us  nothing — had  been  set  upon  from  behind.  Not  a 
servant  remained.  .  .  .  But,  by  the  way,  your  man 
Doggott  came  in  by  the  evening  dak-tonga." 

"Where's  Raikes?" 

"  Gone  to  the  palace  to  threaten  Salig  Singh  with  an 
army  corps." 

"  You  know  the  telegraph  wires  are  cut?  " 

"  Yes,  but  how " 

"  Never  mind  how  I  know — the  story's  too  long.  The 
thing  to  do  is  to  get  troops  here  without  a  day's  delay." 

"But  how?" 

"  Take  Raikes,  Clarkson,  and  Doggott  and  ride  like 
hell  to  Badshah  Junction.  Telegraph  from  there. 
The  four  of  you  ought  to  be  able  to  fight  your  way 
through." 


294  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  But,  man,  my  daughter !  " 

*'  I  know  where  to  find  her — or  think  I  do.  No  mat- 
ter which,  I'll  find  her  and  bring  her  back  to  you  safely, 
or  die  trying.  You  spoke  just  now  of  a  secret  but 
trustworthy  source  of  information:  I  work  with  it  this 
night.  I  can't  mention  names — you  know  why;  but 
that  source  was  in  this  room  ten  minutes  ago.  He's 
gone  after  your  daughter  now.  I  follow.  No — I  go 
alone.  It's  the  only  way.  I  know  how  you  feel  about 
it,  but  believe  me,  the  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  find  some 
way  to  summon  British  troops.  Now  the  quicker  you 
go,  the  quicker  I'm  off.  I  can't — daren't  move  while 
you're  here." 

Farrell  eyed  him  strangely.  "  I'll  go,"  he  said  after 
a  pause.  "  But  .  .  .  why  can't  I " 

"  There  are  just  two  white  men  living,  Colonel  Far- 
rell, who  can  go  where  I  am  going  to  look  for  your 
daughter  to-night.  I'm  one  of  them.  The  other  is — 
you  know  who." 

"  One  of  us  is  mad,"  said  Farrell  with  conviction. 
"  I  think  you  are." 

"  Or  else  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  In  either 
event  you  only  hinder  me  now.  Please  go." 

His  manner  impressed  the  man ;  for  a  moment  Farrell 
lingered,  doubting,  then  impetuously  offered  his  hand. 
"  I'm  hanged  if  I  understand  why,"  he  said,  "  but  some- 
how I  believe  you  know  what  you're  about.  Good-night 
and — and  God  be  with  you,  Amber." 

The  Virginian  followed  him  to  the  doorway.  Far- 
rell's  horse,  a  docile,  well-trained  animal,  had  come  to 
the  edge  of  the  veranda  to  wait  for  his  master.  Other- 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  295 

wise  the  compound  was  as  empty  as  the  night  was  quiet. 
Mounting,  the  Political  waved  a  silent  farewell  and 
spurred  off  toward  the  city.  Amber  passed  back 
through  the  bungalow  to  the  bund. 

It  was  a  wonderful  blue  night  of  clear  moonlight, 
quickened  by  a  rowdy  wind  that  rioted  down  the  valley 
from  the  north.  The  roughened  surface  of  the  lake 
was  dark  save  where  the  moon  had  blazed  its  trail  of 
shimmering  golden  scales.  There  was  no  boat  visible, 
and  for  the  first  time  Amber's  heart  misgave  him  and 
he  doubted  whether  it  were  not  best  to  seek  a  mount 
from  the  stables  of  the  Residency  and  try  to  reach 
Kathiapur  on  his  own  initiative.  But  his  ignorance  of 
the  neighbouring  topography  was  too  great  a  handicap 
to  be  overcome;  and  now  that  Labertouche  had  gone, 
he  was  without  a  friendly,  guiding  hand.  He  could  but 
deliver  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  and  do  what 
he  might  thereafter. 

He  lifted  his  voice  and  called :  "  Ohe,  Dulla  Dad !  " 

There  came  a  soft  shuffle  of  feet  on  the  stones  behind 
him,  and  the  stunted,  white-clad  figure  of  Dulla 
Dad  stood  at  his  side,  making  respectful  obeisance. 
"Hazoor!" 

"  You  damned  spying  scoundrel ! "  Amber  cried,  en- 
raged. "  You've  been  waiting  there  by  the  window, 
listening !  " 

"  Hazoor,"  the  native  quavered  in  fright,  "  it  was 
cold  upon  the  water  and  you  kept  me  waiting  over- 
long.  I  landed,  seeking  shelter  from  the  wind.  If  your 
talk  was  not  for  mine  ears,  remember  that  you  used  a 
tongue  I  did  not  know." 


296  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  So  you  were  listening ! "  Amber  calmed  himself. 
"  Never  mind.  Where's  your  boat  ?  " 

"  I  thought  to  hide  it  in  the  rushes.  If  the  hazoor 
will  be  patient  for  a  little  moment  ..."  The  native 
dropped  down  from  the  bund  and  disappeared  into  the 
reedy  tangle  of  the  lake  shore.  A  minute  or  so  later 
Amber  saw  the  boat  shoot  out  from  the  shore  and  swing 
in  a  long,  graceful  curve  to  the  steps  of  the  bund. 

"  Make  haste,"  he  ordered,  as  he  jumped  in  and  took 
his  place.  "  If  I  have  kept  you  waiting,  as  you  say, 
then  I  am  late" 

"  Nay,  there  is  time  to  spare."  Dulla  Dad  spun  the 
boat  round  and  away.  "  I  did  but  think  to  anticipate 
your  impatience,  knowing  that  you  would  assuredly 
come." 

"Ah,  you  knew  that,  Dulla  Dad?  How  did  you 
know?" 

The  man  giggled  softly,  plying  a  busy  paddle.  "  Am 
I  not  of  the  palace,  hazoor?  What  are  secrets  in  the 
house  of  kings  ?  Gossip  of  herders  and  bazaar-women !  " 

"  And  how  much  more  do  you  know,  Dulla  Dad  ?  " 
Amber's  tone  was  ominous. 

"  I,  hazoor?  Who  am  I  to  know  aught?  .  .  .  Nay, 
this  have  I  heard " — he  paused  cunningly :  '  '  You 
shall  find  but  one  way  to  Kathiapur.' ' 

Amber,  realising  that  he  had  invited  this  insolence, 
was  fair  enough  not  to  resent  it,  and  held  his  peace  until 
he  could  no  longer  be  blind  to  the  fact  that  the  native 
was  shaping  a  course  almost  exactly  away  from  the  Raj 
Mahal.  "  What  treachery  is  this,  dog?  "  he  demanded. 
"  This  is  not  the  way " 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  297 

"  Be  not  mistrustful  of  your  slave,  hazoor,"  whined 
the  native.  "  I  do  the  bidding  of  those  before  whose 
will  I  am  as  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  It  is  an  order  that  I 
land  you  on  the  bund  of  the  royal  summer  pavilion,  by 
the  northern  shore  of  the  lake.  There  will  you  find  one 
waiting  for  you,  my  lord." 

Amber  contented  himself  with  a  fresh  examination  of 
his  pistol;  it  was  all  one  to  him,  whatever  the  route  by 
which  he  was  to  reach  Kathiapur,  so  long  as  the  change 
involved  no  delay.  But  this  way  across  the  water  was 
so  much  longer  than  that  which  he  had  anticipated  that 
he  had  time  to  work  himself  into  a  state  of  fuming  im- 
patience before  the  boat  finally  ranged  alongside  a  pre- 
tentious marble  bund  backed  by  ragged  plantations  of 
palms  and  bananas.  To  the  left  the  white-columned 
facade  of  the  Maharana's  stately  pleasure-house  glim- 
mered spectral  in  the  moonlight.  It  showed  no  lights, 
and  Amber  very  naturally  concluded  that  it  was  unoccu- 
pied. 

He  landed  on  the  steps  of  the  bund  and  waited  for 
Dulla  Dad  to  join  him;  but  when,  hearing  a  splash  of 
the  paddle,  he  looked  round,  it  was  to  find  that  the  native 
had  already  put  a  considerable  distance  between  himself 
and  the  shore.  Amber  called  after  him  angrily,  and 
Dulla  Dad  rested  upon  his  paddle. 

"  Nay,  Heaven-born !  "  he  replied.  "  Here  doth  my 
responsibility  end.  Another  will  presently  appear  to 
be  your  guide.  Go  you  up  to  the  jungly  path  leading 
from  the  bund." 

The  Virginian  lifted  his  shoulders  indifferently,  and 
ascended  to  discover  a  wide  footpath  running  inland 


298  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

between  dark  walls  of  shrubbery,  but  quite  deserted. 
He  stopped  with  a  whistle  of  vexation,  peering  to  right 
and  left.  "  What  the  deuce !  "  he  said  aloud.  "  Is  this 
another  of  their  confounded  tricks?  " 

A  low  and  marvellously  sweet  laugh  sounded  at  his 
elbow,  and  he  turned  with  a  start  and  a  flutter  of  his 
pulses.  "  Naraini !  "  he  cried. 

It  had  been  impossible  to  mistake  the  gracious  lines 
of  that  slight,  round  figure,  cloaked  though  it  was  in 
many  thicknesses  of  white  veiling.  She  had  stolen  upon 
him  without  a  sound,  and  seemed  pleased  with  the  com- 
pleteness of  his  surprise,  for  she  laughed  again  before  he 
spoke. 

"  Tell  me  not  thou  art  disappointed,  O  my  king ! " 
she  said,  placing  a  soft  hand  firmly  upon  his  arm. 
"  Didst  thou  hope  to  meet  another  here?  " 

"  Nay,  how  should  I  expect  thee  ?  "  His  voice  was 
gentle  though  he  steeled  his  heart  against  her  fascina- 
tions ;  for  now  he  had  a  use  for  her.  "  Had  Dulla  Dad 
conveyed  me  to  the  palace,  then  I  should  have  remem- 
bered thy  promise  to  ride  with  me  to  Kathiapur.  But, 
being  brought  to  this  place  ..." 

"  Then  thou  didst  wish  to  ride  with  me? "  She 
nodded  approval  and  satisfaction.  "  That  is  altogether 
as  I  would  have  it  be,  Lord  of  my  Heart.  By  this  have 
I  proven  thee,  for  thou  hast  consented  to  approach  the 
Gateway,  not  altogether  because  the  Voice  hath  sum- 
moned thee,  but  likewise,  I  think,  because  thine  own 
heart  urged  thee.  Nay,  but  tell  me,  King  of  my  Soul, 
did  it  not  leap  a  little  at  the  thought  of  meeting  me  ?  " 

With  a  quick  gesture  she  threw  her  veil  aside  and 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  299 

lifted  her  incomparably  fair  face  to  his,  and  he  was 
conscious  that  he  trembled  a  little,  and  that  his  voice 
shook  as  he  answered  evasively :  "  Thou  shouldst  know, 
Ranee." 

"  Ahi!  Then  am  I  a  happy  woman,  to  think  that, 
though  thou  wert  in  open  mutiny  against  the  Voice, 
when  7  called,  thou  didst  yield.  .  .  .  And  thou  art 
ready?" 

"  Am  I  not  here?  " 

"  Now  of  a  verity  do  I  know  that  thou  art  a  man,  my 
king! — a  Rajput,  a  son  of  kings,  and  .  .  .  my  hus- 
band !  "  Pitched  to  a  minor,  thriUing  key,  her  accents 
were  as  musical  as  the  singing  of  a  'cello.  "  For  thou 
dost  know  what  thou  must  dare  this  night  of  nights,  and 
he  is  a  brave  man  who  can  dare  so  much,  unfaltering. 
Tell  me  thou  art  not  afraid,  my  king?  " 

"Why  should  I  be?" 

"  Thou  wilt  not  draw  back  in  the  end?  "  Her  arms 
clipped  him  softly  about  the  neck  and  drew  his  head 
down  so  that  her  breath  was  fragrant  in  his  face,  her 
lips  a  sweet  peril  beneath  his  own.  "  Thou  wilt  brave 
whatever  may  be  prepared  for  thy  testing,  for  the  sake 
of  Naraini,  who  awaits  thee  beyond  the  Gateway;  O  my 
Beloved?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  found  wanting." 

Lithe  as  a  snake,  she  slipped  from  his  arms.  "  Nay, 
I  trust  thee  not ! "  she  laughed,  a  quiver  of  tenderness 
in  her  merriment.  "  Let  my  lips  be  mine  alone  until 
thou  hast  proven  thyself  worthy  of  them."  She  raised 
her  voice,  calling:  "  Ohe,  Run  jit  Singh!" 

The  cry  rang  bell-clear  in  the  stillness,  and  its  silver 


300  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

echo  had  not  died  before  it  was  answered  by  one  who 
stepped  out  from  the  black  shadow  of  a  spreading 
banian,  some  distance  away,  and  came  toward  them, 
leading  three  horses.  As  the  moonlight  fell  upon  him, 
Amber  recognised  the  uniform  the  man  wore  as  that  of 
the  Imperial  Household  Guard  of  Khandawar,  while  the 
horses  seemed  to  be  the  stallions  he  had  seen  in  the 
palace  yard,  with  another  but  little  their  inferior  in 
mettle  or  beauty. 

"  Now,"  announced  the  woman  in  tones  of  deep  con- 
tentment, "  we  will  ride !  " 

She  turned  to  Amber,  who  took  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  set  her  in  the  saddle  of  one  of  the  stallions ;  who, 
his  bridle  being  released  by  the  trooper,  promptly 
leaped  away  and  danced  a  spirited  saraband  with  his 
shadow,  until  Naraini,  with  a  strength  that  seemed  in- 
credible when  one  recalled  the  slightness  of  her  wrists, 
curbed  him  in  and  taught  him  sobriety. 

"  By  Har !  "  she  panted,  "  but  I  think  he  must  know 
that  he  carries  to-night  the  destinies  of  empire !  Mount, 
mount,  my  lord,  and  bear  me  company  if  this  son  of 
Eblis  tries  to  run  away  with  me !  " 

The  sowar  surrendered  to  Amber  the  reins  of  the 
other  stallion,  and  stepped  hastily  aside.  The  Virginian 
took  the  saddle  with  a  flying  leap,  and  a  thought  later 
was  digging  his  knees  into  the  brute's  sleek  flanks  and 
sawing  on  the  bits,  while  the  path  flowed  beneath  him, 
dappled  with  moonlight  and  shadow,  like  a  ribbon  of 
grey-green  silk,  and  trees  and  shrubbery  streaked  back 
on  either  hand  in  a  rush  of  melting  blacks  and  greys. 

Swerving  acutely,  the  path  ran  into  the  dusty  high- 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  301 

road.  Amber  heard  a  rush  of  hoofs  behind  him,  and 
then  slowly  the  gauze-wrapped  figure  of  the  queen  drew 
alongside. 

"  Maro!  Let  him  run,  my  king !  The  way  is  not  far 
for  such  as  he.  Have  no  fear  lest  he  tire !  " 

But  Amber  set  his  teeth  and  wrought  with  the  reins 
until  his  mount  comprehended  the  fact  that  he  had  met  a 
master,  and,  moderating  his  first  furious  burst  of  speed, 
settled  down  into  a  league-devouring  stride,  crest  low, 
limbs  gathering  and  stretching  with  the  elegant  pre- 
cision of  clockwork.  His  rider,  regaining  his  poise, 
found  time  to  look  about  him  and  began  to  enjoy,  for 
all  his  cares,  this  wild  race  through  the  blue-white 
night. 

Behind  them,  carbine  on  saddle-bow,  the  sowar  thun- 
dered in  pursuit,  at  an  interval  of  about  a  hundred 
yards — often  greater,  when  the  stallions  would  have  it 
so  and  spent  their  temper  in  brief,  brisk  contests  for  the 
leadership.  On  Amber's  left  the  woman  rode  as  one  to 
the  saddle  born,  her  face  turned  eagerly  to  the  open 
road,  smiling  a  little  with  excitement  beneath  the  tissue 
of  thin  veiling  which  the  speed-bred  breeze  moulded  cun- 
ningly to  the  contour  of  her  flawless  features.  The  fire 
in  her  blood  shone  lambent  in  the  eyes  that  now  and 
again  met  Amber's.  More  than  once  he  heard  her  laugh 
low,  with  a  lilt  of  happiness. 

For  himself  he  was  drunk  with  the  spirit  of  adventure. 
Bred  of  the  moonlit  sky  and  the  far  shy  stars,  of  the 
flooding  moonlight  breaking  crisply  against  impenetra- 
ble shadows  like  surf  against  black  rocks,  of  the  tune  of 
hoofs,  of  the  singing  wind  and  sighing  waters,  a  wild 


302  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

and  reckless  humor  possessed  him,  ran  molten  in  his 
veins,  swam  in  his  brain  like  fumes  of  wine. 

As  the  tale  of  miles  increased,  the  valley  opened  out, 
and  presently  they  swung  to  the  west  from  the  northerly 
track,  branching  off  into  a  rougher  way  through  a 
wilder  countryside.  Rugged  hilltops  marched  beside 
them,  looming  stark  black  against  the  silvered  purple  of 
the  sky.  They  met  no  one,  their  road  winding  through 
a  land  whose  grandeur  was  enhanced  by  its  positive  des- 
olation— a  land  tenanted  only  by  a  million  devils  of 
loneliness  with  naught  to  do  save  to  fling  back  mocking 
echoes  of  the  road-song  of  the  flying  hoofs.  .  .  . 

Toward  the  close  of  the  second  hour  the  valleys  began 
to  widen,  the  hills  to  be  less  lofty  and  precipitous.  The 
horses  swung  up  gentler  ascents,  down  slopes  less  sharp. 
The  road  ran  for  a  time  along  the  bank  of  a  broad  and 
placid  river,  then  crossed  it  by  a  massive  arch  of  ma- 
sonry as  old  as  history.  They  circled  finally  a  great, 
round,  grassless  hillside,  and  pulled  rein  in  the  notch  of 
a  gigantic  V  formed  by  two  long,  prow-like  spurs  run- 
ning out  upon  a  plain  whose  sole,  vague  boundary  was 
the  vast  arc  of  the  horizon. 

Before  them  loomed  dead  Kathiapur,  an  island  of 
stone  girdled  by  the  shallow  silver  river.  Like  the 
rugged  pedestal  of  some  mammoth  column,  its  cliffs  rose 
sheer  threescore  feet  from  the  water's  edge  to  the  foot 
of  the  outermost  of  its  triple  walls.  From  the  notch  in 
the  hills  a  great  stone  causeway  climbed  with  a  long  and 
easy  grade  to  the  level  of  the  first  great  gate,  spanning 
the  chasm  over  the  river  by  means  of  a  crazy  wooden 
bridge. 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  303 

Above  the  broken  rim  of  the  three-fold  walls  the 
moon's  unearthly  splendor  made  visible  a  vast  confusion 
of  crumbling  cornices,  blank  walls,  turrets,  domes,  and 
towers,  the  gnarled  limbs  of  dead  trees,  the  luxuriant 
dark  foliage  of  banian  and  pepal,  palm  and  acacia.  But 
nothing  moved  and  there  was  not  a  light  to  be  seen. 
These  things  with  the  silence  told  the  tale  of  death. 
With  the  cessation  of  the  ringing  hoofbeats  the  stillness 
had  closed  down  upon  the  riders  like  a  spell  to  break  the 
which  were  to  invite  the  wrath  of  the  undying  gods 
themselves.  Other  than  the  silken  breathing  of  the 
horses,  an  occasional  muffled  thud  or  the  jingle  of  a 
bridle-chain  as  one  pawed  the  earth  or  tossed  his  head, 
they  heard  no  sound.  The  unending  hum  of  a  living  city 
was  not  there.  Sister  of  Babylon,  Nineveh  and  Tyre, 
kin  to  Chitor  and  that  proud  city  of  the  plains  that  Jai 
Singh  abandoned  when  he  built  him  his  City  of  Victory, 
Kathiapur  is  as  Tadmor — dead.  The  shell  remains ;  the 
soul  has  flown. 

A  gasp  from  the  woman  and  an  oath  from  the  sowar 
startled  Amber  out  of  somber  apprehensions  into  which 
he  had  been  plunged  by  contemplation  of  this  impreg- 
nable fortress  of  desolation.  Gone  was  his  lust  for 
peril,  gone  his  high,  heedless  joy  of  adventure,  gone  the 
intoxication  which  had  been  his  who  had  drunk  deep  of 
the  cup  of  Romance ;  there  remained  only  the  knowledge 
that  he,  alone  and  single-handed,  was  to  pit  his  wits 
against  the  invisible  and  mighty  forces  that  lurked  in 
hiding  within  those  walls,  to  seem  to  submit  to  their  de- 
signs and  so  find  his  way  to  the  woman  of  his  love, 
tear  her  from  the  grasp  of  the  unseen,  and  with  her 
escape  .  .  . 


304  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Naraini  had,  indeed,  no  need  to  cry  aloud  or 
clutch  his  hand  in  order  to  apprise  him  that  the  Eye  was 
vigilant.  He  himself  had  seen  it  break  forth,  a  lurid 
star  of  emerald  light  suspended  high  above  the  dark 
heart  of  the  city — high  in  the  air  where  the  moment 
gone  there  had  been  nothing ;  so  powerful  that  it  shaded 
with  sickly  pallor  the  face  of  the  woman,  who  clung 
shuddering  to  Amber ;  so  unpresaged  its  appearance  and 
so  malign  its  augury  that  it  shook  even  the  skepticism 
of  him  whose  reason  had  been  nourished  by  the  materi- 
alism of  the  Occident. 

Slowly,  while  they  watched,  the  star  descended,  foot  by 
foot  dropping  until  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  a  hidden 
temple  seemed  to  support  it;  and  there  it  rested,  throb- 
bing with  light,  now  bright,  now  dull. 

Amber  shook  himself  impatiently.  "  Silly  charla- 
tanry ! "  he  muttered,  irritated  by  his  own  susceptibility 
to  its  sinister  suggestion.  ..."  I'd  like  to  know 
how  they  manage  it,  though ;  the  light  itself  's  compre- 
hensible enough,  but  their  control  of  it  .  .  .If  there 
were  enough  wind,  I'd  suspect  a  kite.  ..." 

"  Thou  art  not  dismayed,  my  king?  " 

He  laughed,  not  quite  as  successfully  as  he  could  have 
wished,  and,  "  Not  I,  Naraini,"  he  returned  in  English : 
a  tongue  which  seemed  somehow  better  suited  for  service 
in  combating  the  esoteric  influences  at  work  upon  his 
mind.  "  What's  the  next  turn  on  the  programme?  " 

"  I  like  not  that  tone,  nor  yet  that  tongue."  The 
woman  shivered.  "  Even  as  the  Eye  seeth,  my  lord,  so 
doth  the  Ear  hear.  Is  it  meet  and  wise  to  speak  with 
levity  of  that  in  whose  power  thou  shalt  shortly  be?  " 


THE  WAY  TO  KATHIAPUR  305 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  admitted,  thoughtful.  " *  In 
whose  power  I  shall  shortly  be.'  .  .  .  Well,  of 
course !  " 

"And  thou  wilt  go  on?  Thou  art  not  minded  to 
withdraw  thy  hand?  " 

"  Not  so  that  you'd  notice  it,  Naraini." 

"For  the  sake  of  the  reward  Naraini  offers  thee?  " 
she  persisted  dangerously. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  you'd  turn  'most  any 
man's  head,  my  dear,"  he  said  cheerfully,  and  let  her  in- 
terpret the  words  as  she  pleased. 

She  was  not  pleased,  for  her  acquaintance  with  Eng- 
lish was  more  intimate  than  she  had  chosen  to  admit ;  but 
if  she  felt  any  chagrin  she  dissimulated  with  her  never- 
failing  art.  "  Then  bid  me  farewell,  O  my  soul,  and 
go!" 

"  Up  there?  "  he  enquired,  lifting  his  brows. 

"  Aye,  up  the  causeway  and  over  the  bridge,  into  the 
city  of  death." 

"Alone?" 

"  Aye,  alone  and  afoot,  my  king." 

"  Pleasant  prospect,  thanks."  Amber  whistled,  a 
trifle  dashed.  "  And  then,  when  I  get  up  there— 

"  One  will  meet  thee.     Go  with  him,  fearing  naught." 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  meanwhile?  " 

"  When  thou  shalt  have  passed  the  Gateway,  my  lord, 
Naraini  will  be  waiting  for  thee." 

"  Very  well."  Amber  threw  a  leg  over  the  crupper, 
handed  the  stallion's  reins  to  the  sowar,  who  had  dis- 
mounted and  drawn  near,  and  dropped  upon  his  feet. 

Naraini  nodded  to  the  sowar,  who  led  the   animal 


306  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

away.  When  he  was  out  of  earshot  the  woman  leaned 
from  the  saddle,  her  glorious  eyes  to  Amber's.  "  My 
king !  "  she  breathed  intensely. 

But  the  thought  of  Sophia  Farrell  and  what  she 
might  be  suffering  at  that  very  moment  was  uppermost 
— obtruded  itself  like  a  wall  between  himself  and  the 
woman.  He  had  no  further  inclination  for  make- 
believe,  and  he  saw  Naraini  with  eyes  that  nothing 
illuded.  Quite  as  casually  as  though  she  had  been  no 
more  to  him  than  a  chance  acquaintance,  he  reached  up, 
took  her  hand,  and  gave  it  a  perfunctory  shake. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear,"  he  said  amiably ;  and,  turn- 
ing, made  off  toward  the  foot  of  the  causeway. 

When  he  had  gained  it,  he  looked  back  to  see  her 
riding  off  at  a  wide  angle  from  the  causeway,  heading 
out  into  the  plain.  When  he  looked  again,  some  two  or 
three  minutes  later,  Naraini,  the  sowar,  and  the  horses 
had  vanished  as  completely  as  if  the  earth  had  opened 
to  receive  them.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  stared,  and  gave 
it  up. 

So  he  was  alone !  .    .    .   With  a  shrug,  he  plodded  on. 


CHAPTER  XVin 

THE    HOODED    DEATH 

THE  causeway  down  which  the  horsemen  of  forgotten 
kings  of  Khandawar  had  clattered  forth  to  war,  in  its 
age-old  desuetude  had  come  to  decay.  Between  its 
great  paving  blocks  grass  sprouted,  and  here  and  there 
creepers  and  even  trees  had  taken  root  and  in  the  slow 
immutable  process  of  their  growth  had  displaced  con- 
siderable masses  of  stone ;  so  that  there  were  pitfalls  to 
be  avoided.  Otherwise  a  litter  of  rubble  made  the  walk- 
ing anything  but  good.  Amber  picked  his  way  with 
caution,  grumbling. 

The  grade  was  rather  more  steep  than  it  had  seemed 
to  be  from  the  plain.  Now  and  then  he  stopped  to  re- 
gain his  breath  and  scrub  a  handkerchief  over  his  fore- 
head, on  which  sweat  had  started  despite  the  cold.  At 
such  times  his  gaze  would  seek  inevitably  and  involun- 
tarily, the  lotus-pointed  pinnacle  whereon  the  Eye  was 
poised,  blazing.  Its  baleful  emerald  glare  coloured  his 
mood  unpleasantly.  He  had  a  fancy  that  the  thing  was 
actually  watching  him.  The  sensation  was  creepy. 

For  that  matter,  nothing  that  met  his  eye  was  calcu- 
lated to  instil  cheer  into  his  heart.  Desolation  worked 
with  silence  sensibly  upon  his  thoughts,  so  that  he 
presently  made  the  alarming  discovery  that  the  bottom 
had  dropped  completely  out  of  his  stock  of  scepticism, 
leaving  him  seriously  in  danger  of  becoming  afraid  of 

307 


308  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  dark.  Scowling  over  this,  he  stumbled  on,  telling 
himself  that  he  was  a  fool:  a  conclusion  so  patent  that 
neither  then  nor  thereafter  at  any  time  did  he  find 
reason  to  dispute  it. 

After  some  three-quarters  of  an  hour  of  hard  climbing 
he  came  to  the  wooden  bridge,  and  halted,  surveying  it 
with  mistrust.  Doubtless  in  the  olden  time  a  substantial 
but  movable  structure,  strong  enough  to  sustain  a  troop 
of  warriors  but  light  enough  to  be  easily  drawn  up,  had 
extended  across  the  chasm,  rendering  the  city  impreg- 
nable from  capture  by  assault.  If  so,  it  had  long  since 
been  replaced  by  an  airy  and  well-ventilated  lattice- 
work of  boards  and  timbers,  none  of  which  seemed 
to  the  wary  eye  any  too  sound.  Amber  selected  the 
most  solid-looking  of  the  lot  and  gingerly  advanced  a 
pace  or  two  along  it.  With  a  soft  crackling  a  portion 
of  the  timber  crumbled  to  dust  beneath  his  feet.  He 
retreated  hastily  to  the  causeway,  and  swore,  and 
noticed  that  the  Eye  was  watching  him  with  malevolent 
interest,  and  swore  some  more.  Entirely  on  impulse  he 
heaved  a  bit  of  rock,  possibly  twenty  pounds  in 
weight,  to  the  middle  of  the  structure.  There  fol- 
lowed a  splintering  crash  and  the  contraption  dissolved 
like  a  magic-lantern  effect,  leaving  a  solitary  beam 
about  a  foot  in  width  and  six  or  eight  inches  thick, 
spanning  a  flight  of  twenty  and  a  drop  of  sixty  feet. 
The  river  received  the  rubbish  with  several  successive 
splashes,  distinctly  disconcerting,  and  Amber  sat  down 
on  a  boulder  to  think  it  over. 

"  Clever  invention,"  he  mused ;  "  one  'd  think  that, 
after  taking  all  this  trouble  to  get  me  here,  they'd 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  309 

changed  their  minds  about  wanting  me.  I've  a  notion 
to  change  mine."  He  looked  up  at  the  cusped  and  bat- 
tlemented  gateway  opposite  him,  shifted  his  regard  to 
the  Eye,  and  shook  his  fist  vindictively  at  the  latter. 
"  If  ever  I  get  hold  of  the  chap  that  invented 
you  .  .  .  ! "  An  ingenious  imagination  failing  to 
suggest  any  form  of  torture  commmensurate  with  the 
crime,  he  relapsed  into  gloomy  meditation. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  turning  back  at 
that  stage,  however.  Kuttarpur  was  rather  far  away, 
and,  moreover,  he  doubted  if  he  would  be  permitted  to 
return.  Having  come  thus  far,  he  must  go  on.  More- 
over, Sophia  Farrell  was  on  the  other  side  of  that  Sword- 
wide  Bridge,  and  such  being  the  case,  cross  it  he  would 
though  he  were  to  find  the  next  world  at  its  end. 
Finally  he  considered  that  he  was  presently  to  undergo 
an  Ordeal  of  some  unknown  nature,  probably  extremely 
unpleasant,  and  that  this  matter  of  the  vanishing  bridge 
must  have  been  arranged  in  order  to  put  him  in  a 
properly  subdued  and  tractable  frame  of  mind. 

He  got  up  and  tested  the  remaining  girder  with  cir- 
cumspection and  incredulity ;  but  it  seemed  firm  enough, 
solidly  embedded  in  the  stonework  of  the  causeway  and 
immovable  at  the  city  end.  So  he  straddled  it  and, 
averting  his  eyes  from  the  scenery  beneath  him,  hitched 
ingloriously  across,  collecting  splinters  and  a  very  dis- 
tinct impression  that,  as  a  vocation,  knight-errantry 
was  not  without  its  drawbacks. 

When  again  he  stood  on  his  feet  he  was  in  the  shadow 
of  the  outer  gateway,  the  curtain  of  the  second  wall 
confronting  him.  The  stillness  remained  unbroken  but 


310  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

the  moonlight  illuminated  with  startling  distinctness  the 
frescoes,  half  obliterated  by  time,  and  they  were  mon- 
strous, revolting  and  obscene,  from  a  Western  point  of 
view.  A  bastion  of  the  third  wall  hid  the  Eye,  however ; 
he  was  grateful  for  that. 

Casting  about,  he  discovered  the  second  gateway 
at  some  distance  to  the  left,  and  started  toward  it,  forc- 
ing a  way  through  a  tangle  of  scrubby  undergrowth, 
weeds,  and  thorny  acacia,  but  had  taken  few  steps  ere 
a  heavy  splash  in  the  river  below  brought  him  up 
standing,  with  a  thumping  heart.  After  an  irresolute 
moment  he  turned  back  to  see  for  himself,  and  found 
his  apprehension  only  too  well  grounded ;  the  Swordwide 
Bridge  was  gone,  displaced  by  an  agency  which  had 
been  prompt  to  seek  cover — though  he  confessed  him- 
self unable  to  suggest  where  that  cover  had  been 
found.  There  was  no  one  visible  on  the  causeway,  and 
nobody  skulked  in  the  shadows  of  the  bastions  of  the 
main  gate.  Furthermore  it  seemed  hardly  possible  that 
in  so  scant  a  space  of  time  human  hands  could  have 
worked  that  heavy  beam  out  of  its  sockets.  And  if  the 
hands  had  been  human  (of  course  any  other  hypothesis 
were  ridiculous)  what  had  become  of  their  owners? 

He  gave  it  up,  considering  that  it  were  futile  to 
badger  his  wits  for  the  how  and  the  wherefore.  The 
important  fact  remained  that  he  was  a  prisoner  in  dead 

Kathiapur,  his  retreat  cut  off,  and Here  he  made 

a  second  discovery,  infinitely  more  shocking:  his  pistol 
was  gone. 

Amber  remembered  distinctly  examining  the  weapon 
in  Dulla  Dad's  boat,  since  when  he  had  found  no  oc- 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  311 

casion  to  think  of  it.  Now  either  it  had  jolted  out  of 
his  pocket  in  that  wild  ride  from  Kuttarpur,  or  else 
Naraini  had  managed  deftly  to  abstract  it  while  in  his 
arms  by  the  summer  palace,  or  when,  later,  she  had 
shrunk  against  him  in  real  or  affected  terror  of  the 
Eye.  Of  the  two  explanations  his  reason  favoured  the 
second.  But  he  made  no  audible  comment,  though  his 
thoughts  were  as  black  as  his  brow  and  as  grimly 
fashioned  as  the  set  of  his  j  aw. 

Turning  back  at  length  he  made  his  way  to  the  second 
gateway  and  from  it  to  the  third,  under  the  lewdly 
sculptured  arch  of  which  he  stopped  and  gasped,  for- 
getting himself  as  for  the  first  time  Kathiapur  the  Fal- 
len was  revealed  to  him  in  all  the  awful  beauty  of  its 
naked  desolation. 

A  wide  and  stately  avenue  stretched  away  from  the 
portals,  between  rows  of  dwellings,  palaces  of  marble 
and  stone,  tombs  and  mausoleums,  with  meaner  houses  of 
sun-dried  brick  and  rubble,  roofless  all  and  disintegrat- 
ing in  the  slow,  terrible  process  of  the  years.  Here  a 
wall  had  caved  in,  there  an  arch  had  fallen  out.  The 
thoroughfare  was  strewn  with  fallen  lintels,  broken 
marble  screens,  blocks  of  red  sandstone,  bricks,  and  in 
between  them  the  fig  and  pipal  flourished  with  the  bebel- 
thorn,  the  ak,  the  mimosa,  the  insidious  convolvulus 
twining  everywhere.  At  the  far  end  of  the  street  a 
yawning  black  arch  rose  in  the  white,  beautiful  facade 
of  a  marble  temple  on  whose  uppermost  pinnacle  the  Eye 
hovered,  staring  horridly. 

As  Amber  moved  forward  small,  alert  ghosts  rose 
from  the  undergrowth  and  scurried  silently  thence:  a 


312  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

circumstance  which  made  him  very  unhappy.  Even  a 
brilliant  chorus  of  sharp  barks  from  an  adjacent  street 
failed  to  convince  him  that  he  had  merely  disturbed  a 
pack  of  jackals,  after  all,  and  not  the  disconsolate 
brooding  wraiths  of  those  who  had  died  and  been  buried 
in  the  imposing  ruined  tombs,  what  time  Kathiapur 
boasted  ten  thousand  swords  and  elephants  by  the 
herd. 

The  way  was  difficult  and  Amber  tired.  After  a 
while,  having  seen  nothing  but  the  jackals,  an  owl  or 
two,  several  thousand  bats  and  a  crawling  tiling  which 
had  lurched  along  in  the  shadow  of  a  wall  some  distance 
away,  giving  an  admirable  imitation  of  a  badly  wounded 
man  pulling  himself  over  the  ground,  and  making 
strange  gutteral  noises — Amber  concluded  to  wait  for 
the  guide  Naraini  had  promised  him.  He  turned  aside 
and  seated  himself  upon  the  edge  of  a  broken  sandstone 
tomb.  The  silence  was  appalling  and  for  relief  he  took 
refuge  in  cheap  irreverence.  "  Home,"  he  observed 
aloud,  "  never  was  like  this." 

A  heart-rending  sigh  from  the  tomb  behind  him  was 
followed  by  a  rattle  of  dislodged  rubbish.  Amber 
found  himself  unexpectedly  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
and,  without  stopping  to  debate  the  method  of  his  get- 
ting there  with  such  unprecedented  rapidity,  looked 
back  hopefully  to  the  tomb.  At  the  same  moment  a 
black-shrouded  figure  swept  out  of  it  and  moved  a  few 
paces  down  the  street,  then  paused  and  beckoned  him 
with  a  gaunt  arm. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Amber  earnestly,  "  I  had  that  gun." 

The  figure  was  apparently  that  of  a  native  swathed 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  313 

in  black  from  his  head  to  his  heels  and  seemed  the  more 
strikingly  peculiar  in  view  of  the  fact  that,  as  far  as 
Amber  could  determine,  he  had  neither  eyes  nor  features 
although  his  head  was  without  any  sort  of  covering. 
He  gulped  over  the  proposition  for  an  instant,  then 
stepped  forward. 

"  Evidently  my  appointed  cicerone,"  he  considered. 
"  Unquestionably  this  ghost-dance  is  excellently  stage- 
managed.  .  .  .  Though,  of  course,  I  had  to  pick  out 
that  particular  tomb." 

He  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  figure,  which  sped  on 
with  a  singular  motion,  something  between  a  walk  and  a 
glide,  conscious  that  his  equanimity  had  been  restored 
rather  than  shaken  by  the  incident.  "  You  wouldn't 
think,"  he  reflected,  "  that  a  man  like  Salig  Singh  would 
lend  himself  to  anything  so  childish.  Still,  I'm  not 
through  with  it  yet."  He  conceived  a  scheme  to  steal 
up  behind  his  guide  and  strip  him  of  his  masquerade, 
but  though  he  mended  his  pace  he  got  no  nearer,  and 
eventually  abandoned  it  on  the  consideration  that  it  was 
probably  most  inadvisable.  After  all,  he  had  to  re- 
member that  he  was  there  for  a  purpose,  and  a  very 
serious  one,  and  that  properly  to  further  that  purpose 
he  must  comport  himself  with  dignity,  submissively,  ac- 
cepting, at  least  with  a  show  of  ease,  each  new  develop- 
ment of  the  affair  along  its  prearranged  lines.  And  so 
he  held  on  in  pursuit  of  the  black  shadow,  passing  for- 
saken temples  and  lordly  pleasure-houses,  all  marble 
tracery  and  fretwork,  standing  apart  in  what  had  once 
been  noble  gardens,  sunken  tanks  all  weed-grown  and 
rank  with  slime,  humbler  dooryards  and  cots  on  whose 


314  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

hearthstones  the  fires  for  centuries  had  been  cold — his 
destination  evidently  the  temple  of  the  unspeakable  Eye. 

As  they  drew  nearer  the  leading  shadow  forsook  the 
shade  of  the  walls  which  he  had  seemed  to  favour, 
sweeping  hastily  across  a  plaza  white  with  moonglare 
and  without  pause  on  into  the  black,  gaping  hole  beyond 
the  marble  arch. 

Here  for  the  first  time  Amber  hung  back,  stopping 
a  score  of  feet  from  the  door,  his  nerves  a-j  angle.  He 
did  not  falter  in  his  purpose ;  he  was  going  to  enter  the 
inky  portal,  but  .  .  .  would  he  ever  leave  it?  And  the 
world  was  still  sweet  to  him.  His  quick,  darting  gaze 
registered  a  dozen  impressions  in  as  many  seconds:  of 
the  silver  splendour  spilled  so  lavishly  upon  the  soulless 
corpse  of  the  city,  of  the  high,  bright  sky,  of  dead  black 
shadows  sharp-edged  against  the  radiance,  of  the  fleet 
flitting  spectre  that  was  really  a  flying-fox  .  .  . 

Afar  a  hyena  laughed  with  a  sardonic  intonation 
wholly  uncalled-for — it  was  blood-curdling,  besides. 
And  down  the  street  a  melancholy  air  breathed  gently, 
sighing  like  a  soul  astray. 

"  This  won't  do,"  he  told  himself ;  "  it  can't  be  worse 
inside  than  out  here." 

He  took  firm  hold  of  his  reason  and  went  on  across  the 
dark  threshold,  took  three  uncertain  strides  into  the 
limitless  unknown,  and  pulled  up  short,  hearing  noth- 
ing, unable  to  see  a  yard  before  him.  Then  with  a 
terrific  crash  like  a  thunder-clap  the  great  doors  swung 
to  behind  him.  He  whirled  about  with  a  stifled  cry, 
conscious  of  a  mad  desire  to  find  the  doors  again,  took 
a  step  or  two  toward  them,  paused  to  wonder  if  he  were 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  315 

moving  in  the  right  direction,  moved  a  little  to  the  left, 
half  turned,  and  was  lost.  Reverberating,  the  echoes 
of  the  crash  rolled  far  away  and  back  again,  diminish- 
ing in  volume,  dying  until  they  were  no  more  than  as  a 
whisper  adrift  in  the  silence,  until  that  was  gone.  .  .  . 

Profound  night  enveloped  him,  vast,  breathless,  with- 
out dimensions.  One  can  endure  the  blackness  that 
abides  within  four  well-kenned  walls ;  but  night  un- 
relieved by  the  least  gleam  of  light,  night  without 
bounds  or  measurements,  enfolding  one  like  a  stifling 
blanket  and  instilling  into  the  brain  the  fear  of  name- 
less things,  quickening  the  respiration  and  oppressing 
the  heart — that  is  another  thing  entirely,  and  that  is 
what  Amber  found  in  the  Temple  of  the  Bell.  Dark- 
ness swam  visibly  before  his  eyes,  like  a  fluid.  The 
sound  of  his  constrained  breathing  seemed  most  loud  and 
unnatural.  He  could  hear  his  heart  rumbling  like  a 
distant  drum. 

Digging  his  nails  into  his  palms,  he  waited;  and  in 
the  suspense  of  dread  began  to  count  the  seconds. 

One   minute  .    .    .  two  .   .    .  three  .    .    .  four  .   .    . 

He  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  .  .  . 

Seven  .  .  . 

He  passed  a  hand  across  his  face  and  brought  it 
away  wet  with  perspiration.  .  .  . 

Nine   .    .    . 

In  some  remote  spot  a  bell  began  to  toll;  at  first 
slowly  —  clang!  .  .  .  clang!  .  .  .  clang!  —  then 
more  quickly,  until  the  roar  of  its  sonorous,  gong-like 
tones  seemed  to  fill  all  the  world  and  to  set  it  a-tremble. 
Then,  insensibly,  the  tempo  became  more  sedate,  the 


316  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

fierce  clamour  of  it  moderated,  and  Amber  abruptly  was 
alive  to  the  fact  that  the  bell  was  speaking — that  its 
voice,  deep,  clear,  sound,  metallic,  was  rolling  forth 
again  and  again  a  question  couched  in  purest  Sanskrit : 

"  Who  is  there?  .  ...  .  Who  is  there?  .  .  .  Who  is 
there?  .  .  ." 

The  hair  lifted  on  his  scalp  and  he  swallowed  hard  in 
the  effort  to  answer ;  but  the  lie  stuck  in  his  throat :  he 
was  not  Rutton  and  .  .  .  and  it  is  very  hard  to  lie 
effectively  when  you  stand  in  stark  darkness  with  a 
mouth  dry  as  dust  and  your  hair  stirring  at  the 
roots  because  of  the  intensely  impersonal  and  aloof  ac- 
cents of  an  inhuman  Bell-voice,  tolling  away  out  of 
Nowhere. 

"  Who  is  there?  " 

Again  he  failed  to  answer.  Somewhere  near  him  he 
heard  a  slight  noise  as  of  a  man  moving  impatiently; 
and  then  a  whisper :  "  Respond,  thou  fool !  " 

"  Art  thou  come,  O  Chosen  of  the  Gateway  ?  "  the 
Bell-voice  rang. 

"  I  ...  I  am  come,"  Amber  managed  to  reply. 
And  so  still  and  small  sounded  his  own  voice  in  the  huge 
spaces  of  the  place  that  he  was  surprised  to  find  he  had 
been  heard. 

"  Hear  ye ! "  rang  the  Bell.  "  Hear  ye,  O  Lords 
and  Rulers  in  Medhyama !  O  Children  of  my  Gateway, 
hear  ye  well !  He  is  come !  He  stands  upon  the  thresh- 
old of  the  Gateway!" 

Resonant,  the  echoes  of  those  awe-inspiring  tones 
died  upon  the  stillness,  and  in  response  a  faint  sighing 
rose  and,  momentarily  growing  in  volume,  became  as  the 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  317 

roaring  of  a  mighty  wind;  and  suddenly  it  was 
abrupted,  leaving  only  a  ringing  in  the  ears. 

A  great  drum  roared  like  the  crack  of  Doom;  and 
Amber's  jaw  dropped.  For  in  the  high  roof  of  the 
temple  a  six-foot  slab  had  been  noiselessly  withdrawn, 
and  through  it  a  cold  shaft  of  moonlight  fell,  cutting 
the  gloom  like  a  gigantic  rapier,  and  smote  with  its 
immaculate  radiance  the  true  Gateway  of  Swords. 

Not  six  paces  from  him  it  leaped  out  of  the  darkness 
in  an  iridescent  sheen :  an  arch  a  scant  ten  feet  in  height, 
and  in  span  double  the  width  of  a  big  man's  shoulders, 
woven  across  like  a  weaver's  frame  with  ribbons  of 
pale  fire.  But  the  ribbons  were  of  steel — steel  blades, 
sharp,  bright,  gleaming:  a  countless  array  of  curved 
tulwars  and  crescent  scimetars,  broad  jataghans,  short 
and  ugly  kukurees,  long  kutars  with  straight  ends, 
slender  deadly  patas,  snake-like  bichwas;  swords  with 
jewelled  hilts  and  engraved  and  damascened  blades; 
sabres  with  channels  cut  from  point  to  guard  wherein 
small  pearls  ran  singing;  khands  built  for  service  and 
for  parade;  swords  of  every  style  and  period  in  all  the 
history  of  India.  With  their  pommels  cunningly 
affixed  so  that  their  points  touched  and  interlaced,  yet 
swung  free,  they  lined  the  piers  of  the  arch  from  base  to 
span  and  all  the  graceful  sweep  of  the  intrados,  a 
curtain  of  shimmering,  trembling  steel,  barring  the  way 
to  the  Mystery  beyond.  Which  was — darkness. 

"O  ye  Swords!"  belled  the  Voice.  .  .  .  "O  ye 
Swords  that  have  known  no  dishonour!  O  ye  Swords 
that  have  sung  in  the  grasp  of  my  greatest!  Swords 
of  Jehangar,  Akbar,  Alamgir!  Swords  of  Alludin, 


318  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Humayun,  Shah  Jehan!  Swords  of  Timur-Leng, 
Arungzeb,  Rao  Rutton!  .  .  ." 

The  invocation  seemed  interminable.  Amber  recog- 
nised almost  every  name  noted  in  the  annals  and  legends 
of  Hindustan.  .  .  . 

"  Hearken,  O  my  Swords  I  He,  thy  Chosen,  prayeth 
for  entry !  What  is  thy  welcome  ?  " 

One  by  one  the  blades  began  to  shiver,  clashing  their 
neighbours,  until  the  curtain  of  steel  glimmered  and 
glistened  like  phosphorescence  in  a  summer  sea,  and  the 
place  was  filled  with  the  music  of  their  contact ;  and 
through  their  clamour  boomed  the  Bell: 

"  O  my  Chosen ! "  Amber  started  and  held  himself 
firmly  in  hand.  "  Look  well,  look  well !  Here  is  thy 
portal  to  kingship  and  glory !  " 

He  frowned  and  took  a  step  forward  as  if  he  would 
throw  himself  through  the  archway;  for  he  had  sud- 
denly remembered  with  compelling  vividness  that  Sophia 
Farrell  was  to  be  won  only  by  that  passage.  But  as  he 
moved  the  swords  clattered  afresh  and  swung  outwards, 
presenting  a  bristle  of  points.  And  he  stopped,  while 
the  Voice,  indifferent  and  remote  as  always,  continued  to 
harangue  him. 

**  If  thy  heart,  O  my  Chosen,  be  clean,  unsullied  with 
fear  and  guile ;  if  thy  faith  be  the  faith  of  thy  fathers 
and  thy  honour  rooted  in  love  of  thy  land ;  if  thou  hast 
faith  in  the  strength  of  thy  hands  to  hold  the  reins  of 
Empire  .  .  .  enter,  having  no  fear." 

"  Trick-work,"  he  told  himself.  He  set  his  teeth 
with  determination.  "  Hope  they  don't  see  fit  to  cut 
me  to  pieces  on  suspicion.  Here  goes."  He  moved 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  319 

forward  with  a  firm  step  until  his  bosom  all  but 
touched  the  points. 

Instantaneously,  with  another  clash  as  of  cymbals, 
the  blades  were  deflected  and  returned  to  their  first  posi- 
tion, closing  the  way.  He  hesitated.  Then,  "  That 
shan't  stop  me !  "  he  said  through  his  teeth,  and  pushed 
forward,  heart  in  mouth.  He  breasted  the  curtain  and 
felt  it  give;  the  blades  yielded  jealously,  closing  round 
his  body  like  cold  caressing  arms;  he  felt  their  chill 
kisses  on  his  cheeks  and  hands,  even  through  his  cloth- 
ing he  was  conscious  of  their  clinging,  deadly  touch. 
Abruptly  they  swung  entirely  away,  leaving  the 
entrance  clear,  and  he  was  drawing  a  free  breath  when 
the  moon  glare  showed  him  the  swords  returned  to  posi- 
tion with  the  speed  of  light.  He  jumped  for  his  life 
and  escaped  being  slashed  to  pieces  by  the  barest  inch. 
They  swung  to  behind  him ;  and  again  the  drum  roared, 
while  afar  there  arose  a  furious,  eldritch  wailing  of 
conches.  Overhead  the  opening  disappeared  and  the 
light  was  shut  out.  In  darkness  as  of  the  Hall  of 
Eblis  the  conches  were  stilled  and  the  echoes  ebbed  into 
a  silence  that  held  sway  for  many  minutes  ere  again  the 
Bell  spoke. 

"  Stretch  forth  thy  hand." 

Somewhat  shaken,  Amber  held  out  an  open  palm  be- 
fore him.  A  second  time  the  gusty  sighing  arose  and 
breathed  through  the  night,  increasing  until  the  very 
earth  beneath  him  seemed  to  rock  with  the  magnitude  of 
the  sound,  until,  at  its  highest,  it  ceased  and  was  as  if 
it  had  not  been;  not  even  an  echo  sang  its  passing. 
Then  out  of  nothingness  something  plopped  into  Am- 


320  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

ber's  hand  and  his  fingers  closed  convulsively  about  it. 
It  was  a  hand,  very  small,  small  as  a  child's,  gnarled 
and  hard  as  steel  and  cold  as  ice. 

Amber  sunk  his  teeth  into  his  lower  lip  and  sub- 
dued an  almost  uncontrollable  impulse  to  scream  and 
fling  the  thing  away;  for  his  sense  of  touch  told  him 
that  the  hand  was  dead.  And  yet  he  became  sensible 
that  it  was  tugging  at  his  own,  and  he  yielded  to  its 
persuasion,  permitting  himself  to  be  led  on  for  so  long 
a  journey  that  his  fingers  clasping  the  little  hand  grew 
numb  with  cold  ere  it  was  over.  He  could  by  no  means 
say  whither  he  was  being  conducted,  but  was  conscious 
of  a  long,  gradual  descent.  Many  times  he  swept  his 
free  arm  out  round  him,  but  touched  nothing. 

Abruptly  the  guiding  hand  was  twisted  away.  He 
stopped  incontinently,  and  possessed  himself  with  what 
patience  he  could  muster  throughout  another  long  wait 
tempered  by  strange  sibilant  whisperings  and  rustlings 
in  the  void  all  about  him. 

Without  any  forewarning  two  heavy  hands  gripped 
him,  one  on  either  shoulder,  and  he  was  forced  to  his 
knees.  At  the  same  instant,  with  a  snapping  crackle  a 
spurt  of  blue  flame  shot  down  from  the  zenith,  and 
where  it  fell  with  a  thunderclap  a  dazzling  glare  of 
emerald  light  shot  up  breasthigh. 

To  his  half-blinded  eyes  it  seemed,  for  a  time,  to 
dance  suspended  in  the  air  before  him.  A  vapour 
swirled  up  from  it,  a  thin  cloud,  luminous.  By  degrees 
he  made  out  its  source,  a  small,  brazen  bowl  on  a 
tripod. 

A  confusion  of  hushed  voices  swelled  as  had  the  sound 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  321 

of  that  mighty,  rushing,  impalpable  wind,  and  died 
more  slowly. 

Conscious  that  his  features  were  in  strong  light,  he 
strove  to  exhibit  an  impassiveness  that  belied  his  tem- 
per; then  glancing  round  beneath  lowered  eyelids  he 
sought  to  determine  something  of  the  nature  of  his  sur- 
roundings, but  could  see  little.  The  hands  had  left  his 
shoulders  the  minute  his  knees  touched  the  floor;  he 
knelt  utterly  alone  in  the  middle  of  what  seemed  to  be  a 
vast  hall,  or  cavern,  of  which  the  size  was  but  faintly 
suggested.  As  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
chiaroscuro  he  became  aware  of  monstrous  images  of 
stone  that  appeared  to  advance  from  and  retreat  to  the 
far  walls  on  either  hand  as  the  green  light  flared  and 
fell,  and  of  a  great  silent  and  motionless  concourse  of 
people  grouped  about  the  massive  pedestals — a  crowd 
as  contained  and  impassive  as  the  gods  that  towered 
above  its  heads,  blending  into  the  gloom  that  shrouded 
the  high  roof  of  the  place. 

In  front  of  him  he  could  see  nothing  beyond  the  noise- 
lessly wavering  flame.  But  presently  a  hand  appeared, 
as  if  by  magic,  above  the  bowl — a  hand,  bony,  brown, 
and  long  of  finger,  that  seemed  attached  to  nothing — 
and  cast  something  like  a  powder  into  the  fire.  There 
followed  a  fizz  and  puff  of  vapour,  and  a  strong  and 
heady  gust  of  incense  was  wafted  into  Amber's  face. 
Again  and  again  the  hand  appeared,  sprinkling  powder 
in  the  brazier,  until  the  smoke  clouded  the  atmosphere 
with  its  fluent,  eddying  coils. 

The  gooseflesh  that  had  pricked  out  on  Amber's  skin 
subsided,  and  his  qualms  went  with  it.  "  Greek  fire 


322  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

burning  in  a  bowl,"  he  explained  the  phenomenon ;  "  and 
a  native  with  his  arm  wrapped  to  the  wrist  in  black 
is  feeding  it.  Not  a  bad  effect,  though." 

It  was,  perhaps,  as  well  that  he  had  not  been  de- 
ceived, for  there  was  a  horror  to  come  that  required  all 
his  strength  to  face.  He  became  conscious  that  some- 
thing was  moving  between  him  and  the  brazier — some- 
thing which  he  had  incuriously  assumed  to  be  a  piece  of 
dirty  cloth  left  there  carelessly.  But  now  he  saw  it 
stir,  squirm,  and  upend,  unfolding  itself  and  lifting  its 
head  to  the  leaping  flame:  an  immense  cobra,  sleek  and 
white  as  ivory,  its  swelling  hood  as  large  as  a  man's  two 
hands,  with  a  binocular  mark  on  it  as  yellow  as  topaz, 
and  with  vicious  eyes  glowing  like  twin  rubies  in  its  vile 
little  head. 

Amber's  breath  clicked  in  his  throat  and  he  shrank 
back,  rising ;  but  this  instinctive  move  had  been  provided 
against  and  before  his  knees  were  fairly  off  the  rocky 
floor  he  was  forced  down  again  by  the  hands  on  his 
shoulders.  He  was  unable  to  take  his  eyes  from  the 
monster,  and  though  terror  such  as  man  is  heir  to  lay 
cold  upon  his  heart,  he  did  not  again  attempt  to  stir. 

There  was  now  no  sound.  Alone  and  undisturbed  the 
bleached  viper  warmed  to  its  dance  with  the  pulsing 
flame,  turning  and  twisting,  weaving  and  writhing  in 
its  infernal  glare.  .  .  . 

"  Hear  ye,  O  my  peoples !  " 

Amber  jumped.  The  Voice  had  seemed  to  ring  out 
from  a  point  directly  overhead. 

He  looked  up  and  discovered  above  him,  vague  in  the 
obscurity,  the  outlines  of  a  gigantic  bell,  hanging 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  323 

motionless.  The  green  glare,  shining  on  its  rim  and 
partly  illumining  its  empty  hollow  (he  saw  no  clapper) 
revealed  the  sheen  of  the  bronze  of  which  it  was  fash- 
ioned. 

Out  of  its  immense  bowl,  the  Voice  rolled  like 
thunder : 

"  Hear  ye,  O  my  peoples !  " 

A  responsive  murmur  ascended  from  the  company 
round  the  walls: 

"  We  hear !     We  hear,  O  Medhyama !  " 

"  Mark  well  this  man,  O  Children  of  my  Gateway ! 
Mark  well!  Out  of  ye  all  have  I  chosen  him  to  lead 
thee  in  the  work  of  healing;  for  I  thy  Mother,  I  Med- 
hyama, I  Bharuta,  I  the  Body  from  which  ye  are 
sprung,  call  me  by  whatever  name  ye  know  me — I  am 
laid  low  with  a  great  sickness.  .  .  .  Yea,  I  am  stricken 
and  laid  low  with  a  sickness." 

A  great  and  bitter  wailing  arose  from  the  multitude. 

"  Yea,  I  am  overcome  with  a  faintness,  and  my 
strength  is  gone  out  from  me,  and  my  limbs  are  as 
water ;  I  am  sick  with  a  fever  and  languish ;  in  my  veins 
runs  the  Evil  like  fire  and  like  poison ;  and  I  burn  and 
am  stricken ;  I  toss  in  my  torment  and  murmur,  and  the 
sound  of  my  Voice  has  come  to  thine  ears.  Ye  have 
heard  me  and  answered.  The  tale  of  my  sufferings  is 
known  to  ye.  Say,  shall  I  perish  ?  " 

In  the  brazier  the  flame  leaped  high  and  subsided,  and 
with  it  the  cobra  leaped  and  sank  low  upon  its  coils. 
From  the  people  a  mighty  shout  of  negation  went  up, 
so  that  the  walls  rang  with  it,  and  the  echoes  were 
bandied  back  and  forth,  insensibly  decreasing  through 


324.  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

many  minutes.  When  all  was  still  the  Voice  began  to 
chant  again,  and  the  flames  blazed  higher  and  brighter, 
while  the  cobra  resumed  its  mystic  dance. 

Amber  knelt  on  in  a  semi-stupor,  staring  glassily  at 
the  light  and  the  serpent. 

"  I,  thine  old  Mother,  have  called  ye  together  to  help 
in  my  healing.  From  my  feet  to  my  head  I  am  eaten 
with  pestilence ;  yea,  I  am  devoured  and  possessed  by  the 
Evil.  Even  of  old  was  it  thus  with  thy  Mother;  long 
since  she  complained  of  the  Plague  that  is  Scarlet — 
moaned  and  cried  out  and  turned  in  her  misery.  .  .  . 
But  ye  failed  me.  Then  my  peoples  were  weaklings  and 
their  hearts  all  were  craven ;  the  Scarlet  Evil  dismayed 
them ;  they  fled  from  its  power  and  left  it  to  batten  on 
me  in  my  sickness." 

A  deep  groan  welled  in  uncounted  throats  and  re- 
sounded through  the  cavern. 

"  Will  ye  fail  me  again,  O  my  Children?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,  O  our  Mother !  " 

"  Too  long  have  I  suffered  and  been  patient  in  silence. 
Now  must  I  be  cleansed  and  made  whole  as  of  old  time ; 
yea,  I  must  be  purged  altogether  and  the  Evil  cast  out 
from  me.  It  is  time.  .  .  .  Ye  have  heard,  ye  have  an- 
swered; make  ready,  for  the  day  of  the  cleansing  ap- 
proacheth.  Whet  thy  swords  for  the  days  of  the  heal- 
ing, for  my  cleansing  can  be  but  by  steel.  Yea,  thy 
swords  shall  do  away  with  the  Evil,  and  the  land  shall 
run  red  with  the  blood  of  Bharuta,  the  blood  of  thy 
Mother;  it  shall  run  to  the  sea  as  a  river,  bearing  with 
it  the  Red  Evil.  So  and  no  otherwise  shall  I,  thine  old 
Mother,  be  healed  and  made  whole  again." 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  325 

"  Aye,  aye,  O  our  Mother !  " 

The  flames,  dying,  rose  once  more,  and  the  Voice  con- 
tinued, but  with  a  change  of  temper.  It  was  now  a 
clarion  call,  stirring  the  blood  like  martial  music. 

"  Ye  shall  show  me  your  swords  for  a  token.  .  .  . 
Swords  of  the  North,  are  ye  ready?  " 

"  We  are  ready,  old  Mother ! " 

With  a  singing  shiver  of  steel,  all  around  the 
walls,  in  knots  and  clusters,  naked  blades  leaped  up, 
flashing. 

"  Swords  of  the  East,  are  ye  loyal?  " 

"Aye,  old  Mother!" 

'And  the  tally  of  swords  was  doubled. 

"  Swords  of  the  South,  are  ye  thirsty?  " 

A  third  time  the  crashing  response  shattered  the 
echoes. 

"  Swords  of  the  West,  do  ye  love  me?  " 

With  the  fourth  ringing  shout  and  showing  of  steel, 
a  silence  fell.  The  walls  were  veritably  hedged  with 
quivering  blades,  all  a-gleam  in  the  ghastly  glare  of 
green.  Over  the  sculptured  faces  of  the  great  idols 
flickering  shadows  played,  so  that  they  seemed  to  move 
and  grimace,  as  if  with  approbation. 

Amber  was  watching  the  serpent — dazed  and  weary 
as  if  with  a  great  need  of  sleep.  Even  the  salvos  of 
shouts  came  to  him  as  from  a  great  distance.  To  the 
clangour  of  the  Bell  alone  he  had  become  abnormally 
sensitive ;  every  fibre  of  his  being  shuddered,  responsive 
to  its  weird  nuances. 

It  returned  to  its  solemn  and  stately  intoning. 

"  Out  of  ye  all  have  I  chosen  and  fixed  upon  one  who 


326  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

shall  lead  ye.  Through  him  shall  my  strength  be  made 
manifest,  my  Will  be  made  known  to  my  peoples.  Him 
must  ye  serve  and  obey ;  to  him  must  ye  bow  down  and  be 
humble.  Say,  are  ye  pleased?  Will  ye  have  him,  my 
Children?  " 

Without  an  instant's  delay  a  cry  of  ratification  rang 
to  the  roof.  "  Yea,  O  our  Mother !  Him  we  will  serve 
and  obey,  to  him  bow  down  and  be  humble." 

The  Voice  addressed  itself  directly  to  the  kneeling 
man.  He  stiffened  and  roused. 

"  Thou  hast  heard  of  the  honour  we  confer  upon 
thee — I  Medhyama,  thy  Mother,  and  these  my  children, 
thy  brothers.  Ye  shall  lead  and  shall  rule  in  Bharuta. 
Are  ye  ready?  " 

Half  hypnotised,  Amber  opened  his  mouth,  but  no 
words  came.  His  chin  dropped  to  his  breast. 

"  Thy  strength  must  be  known  to  my  peoples ;  they 
must  see  thee  put  to  the  proof  of  thy  courage,  that  they 
may  know  thee  to  be  the  man  for  their  leader.  .  .  .  Ye 
are  ready?  " 

He  was  unable  to  move  a  finger. 

"  Stretch  out  thine  arms !  " 

He  shuddered  and  tried  to  obey.  The  Voice  rang 
imperative. 

"  Stretch  forth  thine  arms  for  the  testing !  " 

Somehow,  mechanically,  he  succeeded  in  raising  his 
arms  and  holding  them  rigid  before  him.  Alarmed  by 
the  movement,  the  cobra  turned  with  a  hiss,  waving  his 
poisonous  head.  But  the  Virginian  made  no  offer  to 
withdraw  his  hands.  His  eyes  were  wide  and  staring 
and  his  face  livid. 


THE  HOODED  DEATH  327 

A  subdued  murmur  came  from  the  men  clustered 
round  the  idols,  in  semi-darkness. 

The  Bell  boomed  forth  like  an  organ. 

"  O  hooded  Death.  .  .  .  O  Death,  who  art  trained 
to  my  service!  Thou  before  whom  all  men  stand  af- 
frighted! Thou  who  canst  look  into  their  hearts  and 
read  them  as  a  scroll  that  is  unrolled.  .  .  .  Look  deep 
into  the  heart  of  my  Chosen !  judge  if  he  be  worthy  or 
wanting,  judge  if  he  be  false  or  true.  ...  .  Judge 
him,  O  Death!" 

Before  Amber  the  great  serpent  was  oscillating  like 
a  pendulum,  its  little  tongue  playing  like  forked  red 
lightning,  its  loathsome  red  eyes  holding  his  own.  Ter- 
ror gripped  his  heart,  and  his  soul  curdled.  He  would 
have  cried  out,  but  that  his  tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of 
his  mouth.  He  could  not  have  moved  had  he  willed  to. 

"Look  well,  O  Death,  and  judge  him!" 

The  dance  of  the  Hooded  Death  changed  in  char- 
acter, grew  more  frenzied;  the  white  writhing  coils 
melted  into  one  another  in  dizzying  confusion ;  figure 
merged  into  figure  like  smoke.  .  .  .  The  suspense  grew 
intolerable. 

"  Hast  thou  judged  him,  O  Death?  " 

Instantly  the  white  cobra  reared  up  to  its  utmost  and 
remained  poised  over  Amber,  barely  moving  save  for 
the  almost  imperceptible  throbbing  of  the  hood  and  the 
incessant  darting  of  the  forked  tongue. 

"  If  he  be  loyal,  then  spare  him   ..." 

The  hood  did  not  move.  Amber's  flesh  crawled  with 
unspeakable  dread. 

"  If  he  be  faithless,  then  .  .  .  strike!  " 


328  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

For  another  moment  the  cobra  maintained  the 
tensity.  Then  slowly,  cruel  head  waving,  hood  shrink- 
ing, eyes  losing  their  deathly  lustre,  coil  by  coil  it  sank. 

A  thick  murmur  ran  the  round  of  the  walls,  swelling 
into  an  inarticulate  cry,  which  beat  upon  Amber's  ears 
like  the  raving  of  a  far-off  surf.  From  his  lips  a 
strangled  sob  broke,  and,  every  muscle  relaxing,  he 
lurched  forward. 

Alarmed,  in  a  trice  the  cobra  was  up  again,  hood  dis- 
tended to  the  bursting  point,  head  swinging  so  swiftly 
that  the  eye  could  not  follow  it.  In  another  breath 
would  come  the  final  thrust.  .  .  . 

A  firearm  exploded  behind  Amber,  singeing  his  cheek 
with  its  flame.  He  fell  over  sideways,  barely  escaping 
the  head  of  the  cobra,  which,  with  its  hood  blown  to 
tatters,  writhed  in  convulsions,  its  malignant  tongue 
straining  forth  as  if  in  one  last  attempt  to  reach  his 
hand. 

A  second  shot  followed  the  first  and  then  a  brisk,  con- 
fused fusillade.  Amber  heard  a  man  scream  out  in 
mortal  agony,  and  the  dull  sound  of  a  heavy  body  fall- 
ing near  him;  but,  coincident  with  the  second  report, 
the  brazier  had  been  overturned  and  its  light  extin- 
guished as  if  sucked  up  into  the  air. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER 

Ix  darkness  the  blacker  for  the  sudden  disappearance 
of  the  light,  somebody  stumbled  over  Amber — stumbled 
and  swore  in  good  English.  The  Virginian  sat  up,  cry- 
ing out  as  weakly  as  a  child :  "  Labertouche !  "  A  voice 
said :  "  Thank  God !  "  He  felt  strong  hands  lift  him 
to  his  feet.  He  clung  to  him  who  had  helped  him,  sway- 
ing like  a  drunkard,  wits  a-swirl  in  the  brain  thus 
roughly  awakened  from  semi-hypnosis. 

"  Here,"  said  Labertouche's  voice,  "  take  my  hand 
and  follow.  We're  in  for  it  now !  " 

He  caught  Amber's  hand  and  dragged  him,  yielding 
and  unquestioning,  rapidly  through  a  chaotic  rush  of 
unseen  bodies. 

The  firing  had  electrified  the  tense-strung  audience. 
With  a  pandemonium  of  shrieks,  oaths,  shouts,  orders 
unheard  and  commands  unheeded,  a  concerted  rush  was 
made  from  every  quarter  to  the  spot  where  the  doomed 
man  had  been  kneeling.  Men  running  blundered  into 
running  men  and  cannoned  off  at  direct  angles  to  their 
original  courses,  without  realising  it.  Disorder  reigned 
rampant,  and  the  cavern  rang  with  a  thousand  echoes, 
while  the  Bell  awoke  and  roared  a  raging  tocsin, 
redoubling  the  din.  No  man  could  have  said  where  he 
stood  or  whither  he  ran — save  one,  perhaps.  That  one 
was  at  Amber's  side  and  had  laid  his  course  beforehand 

329 


330  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

and  knew  that  both  their  lives  depended  upon  his  stick- 
ing to  it  without  deviation.  To  him  a  rush  of  a  hundred 
feet  in  a  direct  line  meant  salvation,  the  least  deviation 
from  it,  death.  He  plunged  through  the  scurrying 
masses  without  regard  for  any  hurt  that  might  come 
either  to  him  or  to  his  charge. 

A  red  glare  of  torches  was  breaking  out  over  the 
heads  of  the  mob  before  they  gained  their  destination. 
Amber  saw  that  they  were  making  for  a  corner  formed 
by  the  junction  of  one  of  the  pedestals  with  a  rocky  wall. 
He  was  now  recovering  rapidly  and  able  to  appreciate 
that  they  stood  a  good  chance  of  winning  away ;  for 
the  natives  were  all  converging  toward  the  centre  of  the 
cavern,  and  apparently  none  heeded  them.  Neverthe- 
less Labertouche,  releasing  him,  put  a  revolver  in  his 
hand. 

"  Don't  hesitate  to  shoot  if  any  one  comes  this 
way ! "  he  said.  "  I've  got  to  get  this  door  open 
and  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off  with  an  ejaculation  of  gratitude;  for 
while  he  had  been  speaking,  his  fingers  busily  groping  in 
the  convolutions  of  the  sculptured  pedestal  had  encoun- 
tered what  he  sought,  and  now  he  pulled  out  an  iron 
bar  two  feet  or  so  in  length  and  as  thick  as  a  woman's 
wrist.  Inserting  this  in  a  socket,  as  one  familiar  with 
the  trick,  he  put  his  weight  upon  it ;  a  carved  sandstone 
slab  slid  back  silently,  disclosing  a  black  cavernous 
opening. 

"  In  with  you,"  panted  Labertouche,  removing  the 
lever.  "  Don't  delay.  .  .  ." 

Amber  did  not.     He  took  with  him  a  hazy  impression 


RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  331 

of  a  vast,  vaulted  hall  filled  with  a  ruddy  glare  of  torch- 
light, a  raving  rabble  of  gorgeously  attired  natives  in 
its  centre.  Then  the  opening  received  him  and  he  found 
himself  in  a  black  hole  of  an  underground  gallery — 
a  place  that  reeked  with  the  dank  odours  of  the 
tomb. 

Labertouche  followed  and  with  the  aid  of  a  small  elec- 
tric pocket-lamp  discovered  another  socket  for  the 
lever.  A  moment  later  the  slab  moved  back  into  place, 
and  the  Englishman  dropped  the  metal  bar.  "  If  there 
were  only  some  way  of  locking  that  opening,"  he 
gasped,  "  we'd  be  fairly  safe.  As  it  is,  we'll  have  to 
look  nippy.  That  was  a  near  call — as  near  a  one  as 
ever  you'll  know,  my  boy ;  and  we're  not  out  yet.  What 
are  you  doing?  "  he  added,  as  Amber  stopped  to  pick  up 
the  lever. 

"  It  isn't  a  bad  weapon,"  said  the  Virginian,  "  at  a 
pinch.  You'll  want  your  gun,  and  that  she-devil, 
Naraini,  got  mine." 

"  Keep  the  one  I  gave  you  and  don't  be  afraid  to  use 
it.  I've  another  and  a  couple  of  knives  for  good  measure. 
That  Mohammedan  prince  whom  I  persuaded  to  change 
places  with  me  was  a  walking  arsenal."  Labertouche 
chuckled.  "  Come  along,"  he  said,  and  drew  ahead  at  a 
dog-trot. 

They  sped  down  a  passage  which  delved  at  a  sharp 
grade  through  solid  rock.  Now  and  again  it  turned 
and  struck  away  in  another  direction.  Once  they 
descended — or  rather  fell  down — a  short,  steep  flight 
of  steps.  At  the  bottom  Amber  stopped. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  he  cried. 


332  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

Labertouche  pulled  up  impatiently.  "  What's  the 
matter?" 

"Sophia !" 

"  Trust  me,  dear  boyr  and  come  along." 

Persuaded,  Amber  gave  in,  blundering  on  after  Laber- 
touche, who  loped  along  easily,  with  the  confidence  of 
one  who  threads  known  ways,  the  spot-light  from  his 
lamp  dancing  along  the  floor  several  feet  before  him. 
Otherwise  they  moved  between  walls  of  Stygian  dark- 
ness. 

It  was  some  time  later  that  Labertouche  extinguished 
his  lamp  and  threw  a  low  word  of  warning  over  his 
shoulder.  Synchronously  Amber  discerned,  far  ahead, 
a  faint  glow  of  yellow  light.  As  they  bore  down  upon 
it  with  unmoderated  speed,  he  could  see  that  it  emanated 
from  a  rough-hewn  doorway,  opening  off  the  passage. 
Before  it  a  man  stood  guard  with  a  naked  sword. 

"  Johar!  "  he  greeted  them  in  the  Mahar  form :  "  O, 
warrior ! " 

"  Johar! "  returned  Labertouche,  panting  heavily. 
He  closed  upon  the  native  confidently,  but  was  brought 
up  short  by  a  peremptory  sweep  of  the  sword,  coupled 
with  an  equally  imperative  demand  for  an  explanation 
of  their  haste.  The  Englishman  replied  with  apparent 
difficulty,  as  if  half-winded.  "  It  is  an  order,  Johar. 
The  woman  is  to  be  brought  to  the  Hall  of  the  Bell." 

"You  have  the  word?"  The  Mahar  lowered  his 
sword.  "  It  hath  been  said  to  me  that " 

Labertouche  stumbled  over  his  feet,  and  caught  the 
speaker  for  support.  The  native  gurgled  in  a  sodden 
fashion,  dropped  his  sword,  stared  stupidly  at  Laber- 


BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  333 

louche,  and  put  an  uncertain  hand  to  his  throat.  Then 
he  lurched  heavily  and  collapsed  upon  himself. 

The  secret-agent  stepped  back,  dropping  the  knife 
he  had  used.  "  Poor  devil !  "  he  said  in  a  compassionate 
undertone.  "  That  was  cold-blooded  murder,  Mr. 
Amber." 

"  Necessary  ?  "  gasped  Amber,  regarding  with  horror 
the  bloodstained  heap  of  rags  and  flesh  at  his  feet. 

"  Judge  for  yourself,"  said  Labertouche  coolly,  step- 
ping over  the  body.  "  Here,"  he  added,  pausing  by  the 
doorway,  "  you  go  first ;  she  knows  you." 

He  pushed  Amber  on  ahead.  Stooping,  the  Vir- 
ginian entered  a  small,  rude  chamber  hollowed  out  of 
the  rock  of  Kathiapur.  A  crude  lamp  in  a  bracket 
furnished  all  its  illumination,  filling  it  with  a  reek  of  hot 
oil.  Amber  was  vaguely  aware  of  the  figures  of  two 
women — one  standing  in  a  corner,  the  other  seated  de- 
jectedly upon  a  charpoy,  her  head  against  the  wall. 
As  he  lifted  his  head  after  passing  under  the  low  lintel, 
the  woman  in  the  corner  fired  at  him  point-blank. 

The  Virginian  saw  the  jet  of  flame  spurt  from  her 
hand  and  felt  the  bullet's  impact  upon  the  wall  behind 
his  head.  He  flung  himself  upon  her  instantly.  There 
was  a  moment  of  furious  struggle,  while  the  cell  echoed 
with  the  reverberations  of  the  shot  and  the  screaming 
of  the  woman  on  the  charpoy.  The  pistol  exploded 
again  as  he  grappled  with  the  would-be  murderess ;  the 
bullet,  passing  up  his  sleeve,  creased  his  left  arm  as  with 
a  white-hot  iron,  and  tore  out  through  the  cloth  on  his 
shoulder.  He  twisted  brutally  the  wrist  that  held  the 
weapon,  and  the  woman  dropped  it  with  a  cry  of  pain. 


334  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  You  would ! "  he  cried,  and  threw  her  from  him, 
putting1  a  foot  upon  the  pistol. 

She  reeled  back  against  the  wall  and  crouched  there, 
trembling,  her  cheeks  on  fire,  her  eyes  aflame  with  rage. 
"  You  dog !  "  she  shrilled  in  Hindi — and  spat  at  him 
like  a  maddened  cat.  Then  he  recognised  her. 

"  Naraini ! "  He  stepped  back  in  his  surprise,  his 
right  hand  seeking  instinctively  the  wrist  of  his  left, 
which  was  numb  with  pain. 

His  change  of  position  left  the  pistol  unguarded,  and 
the  woman  swooped  down  upon  it  like  a  bird  of  prey; 
but  before  she  could  get  her  fingers  on  its  grip,  Laber- 
touche  stepped  between  them,  fended  her  off,  and  quietly 
possessed  himself  of  the  weapon. 

"  Your  pardon,  madam,"  he  said  gravely. 

Naraini  retreated,  shaking  with  fury,  and  Amber 
employed  the  respite  to  recognise  Sophia  Farrell  in  the 
woman  on  the  charpoy.  She  was  still  seated,  prevented 
from  rising  by  bonds  about  her  wrists  and  ankles,  and 
though  unnaturally  pale,  her  anguish  of  fear  and 
despair  had  set  its  marks  upon  her  face  without  one 
whit  detracting  from  the  appeal  of  her  beauty.  He 
went  to  her  immediately,  and  as  their  eyes  met,  hers 
flamed  with  joy,  relief  and  —  he  dared  believe  —  a 
stronger  emotion. 

"  You — you're  not  hurt,  Mr.  Amber  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  The  bullet  went  out  through  my  sleeve. 
And  you  ? "  He  dropped  on  his  knees,  with  his 
pocket-knife  severing  the  ends  of  rope  that  bound 
her. 

"  I'm  all  right."     She  took  his  hands,  helping  herself 


BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  335 

to  rise.     "Thank  you,"  she  said,  her  eyes  shining,  a 
flush  of  colour  suffusing  her  face  with  glory. 

"Did  you  cut  those  ropes,  Amber?"  Labertouche 
interposed  curtly. 

"Yes.     Why?" 

The  Englishman  explained  without  turning  from  his 
sombre  and  morose  regard  of  Naraini.  "  Too  bad — 
we'll  have  to  tie  this  woman  up,  somehow.  She's  a  com- 
plication I  hadn't  foreseen.  .  .  .  Here;  you'd  better 
leave  me  to  attend  to  her — you  and  Miss  Farrell.  Go 
on  down  the  gallery — to  the  left.  I'll  catch  up  with 
you." 

The  pistol  which  he  still  held  lent  to  his  demand  a 
sinister  significance  of  which  he  was,  perhaps,  thought- 
less. But  Sophia  Farrell  heard,  saw,  and  surmised. 

"  No ! "  she  cried,  going  swiftly  to  the  secret-agent. 
"  No ! "  She  put  a  hand  upon  his  arm,  but  he  shook 
it  off. 

"  Did  you  hear  me,  Amber?  "  said  Labertouche,  still 
watching  the  queen. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do?  "  insisted  Sophia.  "  You 
can't — you  mustn't " 

"  This  is  no  time  for  half-measures,  Miss  Farrell," 
Labertouche  told  her  brusquely.  "  Our  lives  hang  in  the 
balance — Mr.  Amber's,  yours,  mine.  Please  go." 

"  You  promise  not  to  harm  her?  " 

"  Amber !  "  cried  the  Englishman  impatiently.   "  Will 


you- 


"  Please,  Miss  Farrell!"  begged  Amber,  trying  to 
take  the  girl's  hand  and  draw  her  away. 

"  I  won't !  "  she  declared.     "  I'll  not  move  a  step  until 


336  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

he  promises.     You  don't  understand.     No  matter  what 
the  danger  she's " 

"  She's  a  fiend  incarnate,"  Labertouche  broke  in. 
"  Amber,  get  that  girl " 

"  She's  my  sister ! "  cried  Sophia.  "  Now  will  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  What !  "     The  two  men  exclaimed  as  one. 

"  She's  my  sister,"  the  girl  repeated,  holding  up  her 
head  defiantly,  her  cheeks  burning — "  my  sister  by 
adoption.  We  were  brought  up  together.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  an  old  friend  of  my  father's — an  Indian 
prince.  A  few  years  ago  she  ran  away " 

"  Thank  God ! "  said  Amber  from  the  bottom  of  his 
soul ;  and,  "  Ah,  you  would ! "  cried  Labertouche 
tensely,  as  Naraini  seized  the  opportunity,  when  his  at- 
tention was  momentarily  diverted,  to  break  for  freedom. 

Amber  saw  the  flash  of  a  steel  blade  in  the  woman's 
hand  as  she  struck  at  the  secret-agent,  and  the  latter, 
stepping  back,  deflected  the  blow  with  a  guarding  fore- 
arm. Then,  with  the  quickness  of  a  snake,  Naraini 
stooped,  glided  beneath  his  arms,  and  slipped  from  the 
cell. 

With  a  smothered  oath  Labertouche  leaped  to  the 
doorway,  lifting  his  pistol;  but  he  was  no  quicker  than 
Sophia,  who  caught  his  arm  and  held  him  back.  "  No," 
she  panted ;  "  not  even  for  our  lives — not  at  that  price !  " 

He  yielded  unexpectedly.  "  Of  course  you  are  per- 
fectly right,  Miss  Farrell,"  said  he,  with  a  little  bow. 
*'  I'm  sorry  that  circumstances  .  .  .  But  come ! 
She'll  have  this  hornet's  nest  about  our  ears  in  a  brace 
of  seconds.  Hark  to  that !  " 


BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  337 

A  long,  shrill  shriek  echoed  down  the  gallery.  Laber- 
touche  shrugged  and  turned  to  the  left.  "  Come  along," 
he  said.  "  Amber,  take  Miss  Farrel's  hand  and  keep 
close  to  me."  He  led  the  way  from  the  cell  at  a  brisk 
pace — one,  indeed,  that  taxed  Sophia's  powers  of  endur- 
ance to  maintain.  Amber  aided  her  as  much  as  he 
might,  but  that  was  little;  the  walls  of  the  passageway 
were  too  close  together  to  permit  him  to  be  by  her  side 
much  of  the  time.  For  the  most  part  he  had  to  lead 
the  way,  himself  guided  by  the  swiftly  moving  patch  of 
light  cast  by  Labertouche's  bull's-eye.  But  through  it 
all  he  was  buoyed  up  and  exhilarated  out  of  all  reason 
by  the  consciousness  of  the  hand  that  lay  trustfully  in 
his  own;  a  hand  soft  and  small  and  warm  and  (though 
he  could  not  see  it)  white,  all  white!  More,  it  was  the 
hand  of  his  wife  to  be ;  he  felt  this  now  with  an  unques- 
tioning assurance.  He  wondered  if  she  shared  the  sub- 
ject of  his  thoughts  .  .  . 

The  gallery  sloped  at  varying  grades,  more  or  less 
steep — mostly  more — and  minute  by  minute  the  air  be- 
came more  dank  and  cold.  At  an  unseen  turning,  where 
another  passage  branched  away,  a  biting  wind  swept  out 
of  the  black  nowhere,  chilling  them  to  the  marrow. 
Deeper  and  still  deeper,  into  the  very  bowels  of  the 
earth,  it  seemed,  the  secret-agent  led  them,  finding  his 
way  with  an  unfaltering  confidence  that  exalted  Amber's 
admiration  of  him  to  the  pitch  of  hero-worship. 

At  length  the  gallery  dipped  and  ran  level,  and  now, 
while  still  cold,  the  wind  that  blew  in  their  faces  was 
cleaner,  burdened  with  less  of  the  clammy  effluvium  of 
death  and  decay ;  and  then,  abruptly,  the  walls  narrowed 


338  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

suddenly,  so  that  Amber  was  forced  to  surrender  pos- 
session of  the  girl's  hand  and  to  fall  behind  her.  She 
went  forward  without  question,  following  the  dancing 
spotlight. 

Amber  paused  to  listen  for  sounds  of  pursuit,  but 
hearing  nothing  save  the  subdued  sigh  of  the  draught 
between  the  straitened  walls  of  rock,  followed  until  the 
walls  fell  away  and  his  hands,  outstretched,  failed  to 
touch  them,  and  he  was  aware  that  the  stone  beneath  his 
feet  had  given  way  to  gravel.  He  halted,  calling  guard- 
edly to  Labertouche. 

The  secret-agent's  voice  came  from  some  distance. 
"  It's  all  right,  my  boy.  Miss  Farrell  is  with  me. 
Come  along." 

There  was  an  elan  in  his  tone  that  bespoke  a  spirit 
of  gratulation  and  relief  and  led  Amber  to  suspect  that 
they  were  very  close  upon  the  end  of  their  flight,  near 
to  escape  from  the  subterranean  ways  of  Kathiapur  the 
dead.  He  proceeded  at  discretion  in  the  direction  of 
Labertouche's  voice — the  light  being  invisible — and 
brought  up  flat  against  a  dead  wall.  Coincidently  he 
heard  Sophia  exclaim  with  surprise  and  delight,  some- 
where off  on  his  left,  and,  turning,  he  saw  her  head  and 
shoulders  move  across  a  patch  of  starlit  sky.  In  half 
a  dozen  strides  he  overtook  her. 

They  stood  on  a  low,  pebbly  ledge,  just  outside  the 
black  maw  of  the  passage — an  entrance  hidden  in  a  cur- 
tain-like fold  in  the  face  of  the  cliff  that  towered  above 
them,  casting  an  ink-black  shadow.  But  beyond  it  the 
emblazoned  firmament  glowed  irradiant,  and  at  their 
feet  the  encircling  waters  ran,  a  broad  ribbon  of  black 


RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  339 

silk  purling  between  the  cliff  and  the  opposing  shores, 
where  a  thicket  of  tamarisks  rose,  a  black  and  ragged 
wall. 

Labertouche  strode  off  into  the  water.  "  Straight 
ahead,"  he  announced ;  "  don't  worry — 'tisn't  more  than 
knee-deep  at  the  worst.  I've  horses  waiting  on  the  other 
side " 

"  Horses !  "  Amber  interrupted.  "  Great  heavens, 
man,  you're — you're  omniscient !  " 

"  No — lucky,"  Labertouche  retorted  briskly. 
"  Where'd  I  've  been  without  Ram  Nath?  He's  taking 
care  of  the  animals.  .  .  .  Come  along.  What  're  you 

waiting  for?  Don't  you  know He  turned  to  see 

the  girl  hesitant,  though  with  lifted  skirts.  "  Oh," 
he  said  in  an  accent  of  understanding,  and  came  back. 
46  If  you'll  help  me,  Amber,  I  daresay  we  can  get  Miss 
Farrell  across  without  a  wetting." 

He  offered  to  clasp  hands  with  the  Virginian  and  so 
make  a  seat ;  but  Amber  had  a  happier  thought. 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  by  myself,  thank  you — if  Miss 
Farrell  will  trust  me." 

His  eyes  met  the  girl's,  and  in  hers  he  read  trust  and 
faith  unending :  he  was  conscious  of  a  curious  fluttering 
in  his  bosom. 

"  Trust  you !  "  she  said,  with  a  little,  broken  laugh, 
and  gave  herself  freely  to  his  arms. 

Labertouche  grunted  and  turned  his  back,  wading 
out  into  the  stream  with  a  great  splashing 

Amber  straightened  up,  holding  her  very  close  to 
him,  and  that  with  ease.  Had  she  been  thrice  as  heavy 
he  could  have  borne  her  with  as  little  care  as  he  did  his 


340  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

own  immeasurably  lightened  heart  in  that  hour  of  fulfil- 
ment. And  she  lay  snug  and  confident,  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  the  shadowed  loveliness  of  her  face  very  near 
to  him.  The  faint  and  elusive  fragrance  of  her  hair 
was  sweet  and  heady  in  the  air  he  breathed;  he  could 
read  her  eyes,  and  their  allure  and  surrender  was  like 
a  draught  of  wine  to  him.  He  felt  the  strength  of  ten 
men  invigorate  him,  and  his  soul  was  sober  with  a  great 
happiness.  But  a  little  while  and  she  would  be  in 
safety;  already  her  salvation  seemed  assured.  .  .  . 
The  further  bank  neared  all  too  quickly.  He  would  will- 
ingly have  lingered  to  prolong  the  stolen  sweetness  of 
that  moment,  forgetful  altogether  of  the  danger  that 
lay  behind  them. 

Ahead,  he  saw  Labertouche  step  out  upon  a  shelving 
shore  and,  shaking  his  legs  with  an  effect  irresistibly 
suggestive  of  a  dog  leaving  the  water,  peer  inland 
through  the  tamarisks.  His  low,  whistled  signal  sounded 
as  Amber  joined  him  and  put  down  the  girl — reluc- 
tantly. Her  whispered  thanks  were  interrupted  by  an 
exclamation  from  Labertouche. 

"  Hang  it  all !  he  can't  've  mistaken  the  spot.  I  told 
him  to  wait  right  here,  and  now  .  .  .  We  daren't  de- 
lay." He  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  across  the 
stream.  "  Look  lively,  please." 

He  shouldered  away  through  the  thicket,  and  fqr  sev- 
eral moments  they  struggled  on  through  the  hindering 
undergrowth,  their  passage  betrayed  by  much  noisy 
rustling.  Then,  as  they  won  through  to  open  ground, 
Labertouche  paused  and  whistled  a  second  time,  staring 
eagerly  from  right  to  left. 


BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  341 

"  I'm  blessed !  "  he  declared,  with  a  vehemence  that 
argued  his  desire  for  stronger  language.  "  This  is 
bad — bad — bad !  He  never  failed  me  before !  I " 

A  mocking  chuckle  seemed  to  break  from  the  ground 
at  their  feet,  and  in  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash  a  shadow 
lifted  up  out  of  the  scrub-encumbered  level.  Sophia 
cried  aloud  with  alarm;  Labertouche  swore  out- 
right, heedless;  and  Amber  put  himself  before  her, 
drawing  his  revolver,  heartsick  with  the  conviction  that 
they  were  trapped,  that  their  labour  had  gone  all  for 
naught,  that  all  futilely  had  they  schemed  and 
dared.  .  .  . 

But  while  his  finger  was  yet  seeking  the  trigger  the 
first  shadow  was  joined  by  a  score  of  fellows — shades 
that  materialised  with  like  swiftness  and  silence  from 
the  surface  of  the  earth — and  before  he  could  level  the 
weapon  Labertouche  seized  his  wrist.  For  an  instant 
he  resisted,  raging  with  disappointment;  but  the  Eng- 
lishman was  cool,  strong,  determined;  inevitably  in  the 
outcome  the  weapon  was  pointed  to  the  sky. 

"  Steady,  you  ass ! "  breathed  the  secret-agent  in  his 
ear.  "  Can't  you  see 

And  Amber  gave  over,  in  amazement  unbounded,  see- 
ing the  starlight  glinting  down  a  dozen  levelled  rifle- 
barrels,  glowing  pale  on  the  spiked,  rounded  crowns  of 
pith  helmets,  and  striking  soft  fire  from  burnished  ac- 
coutrements; while  a  voice,  thick  with  a  brogue  that 
was  never  bred  out  of  hearing  of  Bow  Bells,  was  hec- 
toring them  to  surrender. 

"  'Ands  up,  ye  bloomin'  black  beggars !  'Ands  up, 
I  s'y ! " 


342  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Tommies ! "  cried  Amber ;  and  incontinently  he 
dropped  the  revolver  as  though  it  had  turned  hot  in  his 
hand. 

"  Steady,  my  man !  "  Labertouche  interrupted  what 
threatened  to  develop  into  a  string  of  intolerable  abuse. 
"  Hold  your  tongue !  Can't  you  see  we've  a  lady  with 
us?" 

"  Ul-Zo/  "  The  soldier  lowered  his  rifle  and  stepped 
closer,  his  voice  vibrating  with  astonishment.  "  Blimme, 
'ere's  a  go!  .  .  .  beggar  of  a  nigger  givin'  me  wot- 
for  's  if  'e  was  a  gent !  'Oo  in  'ell  d'ye  think  y'are,  yer 
'ighness?  ' 

"  That'll  do.  Put  down  those  guns,  and  call  your 
commanding  officer.  I'll  explain  to  him.  Where  is  he? 
What  troops  are  you?  When  did  you  arrive?  " 

Such  queries  and  commands  discharged  quickly  in 
crisp  English  from  the  mouth  of  one  who  wore  the  color 
and  costume  of  a  Mohammedan  of  high  degree,  tempo- 
rarily dazed  his  captors.  In  a  body  they  pressed  round 
the  three,  peering  curiously  into  their  faces — the  two 
white  and  the  one  dark ;  and  their  murmurings  rose  and 
swelled  discordant.  "  Blimme  if  'e  aWt  a  gent ! " 
"  T'other  un  is ! "  "  An  this  un  a  leddy !  "  .  .  .But 
to  his  interrogations  Labertouche  got  no  direct  reply. 
While  as  for  Amber,  he  could  have  laughed  aloud  from 
a  heart  that  brimmed  with  thanksgiving  for  the  honest 
sound  of  their  rich  rough  voices ;  besides  which,  Sophia 
stood  very  close  to  him,  and  her  fingers  were  tight  about 
his.  .  .  . 

"  What's  this  ?  "  A  sharp  voice  cut  the  comments  of 
the  Tommies,  and  they  were  smitten  silent  by  it.  An 


RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  343 

officer,  with  jingling  spurs  and  sword  in  hand,  elbowed 
through  the  heart  of  the  press.  "  Stop  that  row  in- 
stantly. What's  this?  Who  are  you,  sir?" 

"  I  sent  the  message  from  Kathiapur,  and  I'm  uncom- 
monly happy  to  meet  you,  whoever  you  may  be,  sir. 
Tell  your  men  to  fall  back,  please,  and  I'll  introduce 
myself  properly." 

Two  words  secured  the  secret-agent  the  privacy  he 
desired;  the  officer  offered  him  an  ungloved  hand  as  the 
troopers  withdrew  out  of  hearing. 

"  Happy,  indeed !  "  he  said  cheerfully.  "  I'm  Rowan, 
Captain,  Fourteenth  Pioneers." 

"I'm  Labertouche,  I.  S.  S.  This  is  Miss  Farrell, 
daughter  of  Colonel  Farrell,  and  this  Mr.  Amber,  of 
New  York.  We're  just  escaped  from  that  rock  over 
there  and — if  you'll  pardon — I'd  suggest  you  set  a 
strong  guard  over  the  ford  behind  those  tamarisks." 

"  One  moment,  please."  The  officer  strode  off  to  issue 
instructions  in  accordance  with  Labertouche's  advice. 
"  We  got  here  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,"  he 
apologised,  swinging  back  as  the  men  deployed  into  the 
thicket,  "  and  haven't  had  time  to  nose  out  the  lay  of 
the  land  thoroughly." 

"  I  infer  you  got  my  man  with  the  horses — native 
calling  himself  Ram  Nath?  " 

"  He's  with  the  Colonel-commanding  now,  Mr.  Laber- 
touche. As  I  was  saying,  we've  hardly  had  time  to  do 
more  than  throw  a  line  of  pickets  round  the  rock.  It's 
been  quick  work  for  us — marching  orders  at  midnight 
yesterday,  down  by  train  to  Sar,  and  forced  march 
across  the  desert  ever  since  daybreak." 


344  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  I'd  hardly  hoped  the  thing  could  be  done  so  quickly. 
If  I  had  been  able  to  get  the  information  an  instant 

earlier,  my  mind  would  've  been  easier,  captain,  but 

Hello!"  * 

From  the  ford  an  abrupt  clamour  of  voices  inter- 
rupted. The  officer  hooked  up  his  scabbard.  "  Sounds 
as  if  my  men  had  gathered  in  somebody  else,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  have  a  look."  He 
trotted  off  into  the  shade  of  the  tamarisks. 

As  he  disappeared  the  disturbance  abated  somewhat. 
"  False  alarm,"  Amber  guessed. 

"  I  fancy  not,"  said  Labertouche.  "  If  I'm  not  mis- 
taken our  friend  Naraini  left  for  the  special  purpose  of 
raising  the  hue  and  cry.  This  should  be  the  vanguard 
of  the  pursuit." 

Amber  looked  upward.  Overhead  the  soulless  city 
slumbered  in  a  stillness  apparently  unbroken,  yet  he  who 
saw  its  profile  rugged  against  the  stars,  could  fancy 
what  consternation  was  then,  or  presently  would  be, 
running  riot  through  its  haunted  ways. 

"  How  many  of  'em  are  there,  do  you  reckon  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Three  or  four  hundred,"  replied  the  secret-agent 
absently ;  "  the  pick  and  flower  of  Indian  unrest.  My 
word,  but  this  will  kick  up  a  row !  Think  of  it,  man ! 
three  hundred  and  fifty-odd  lords  and  princes  bagged  all 
at  once  in  the  act  of  plotting  the  Second  Mutiny !  What 
a  change  it  will  work  on  the  political  face  of  the  land ! 
.  .  .  And  the  best  of  it  is,  they  simply  can't  get 
away." 

"  Is  this  the  only  exit,  then — the  way  we  escaped?  " 


RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  345 

"  Not  by  three — all  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock, 
where  they  rode  up  and  left  their  horses.  And  that's 
where  the  most  of  'em  will  come  out,  by  twos  and  threes, 
like  the  animals  out  of  the  Ark,  you  know.  What  a 
catch ! " 

"  And  we've  you  to  thank !  " 

"  I?     Oh,  dear  boy,  thank  the  Tommies !  " 

"  But  what  would  we  have  done,  or  the  Tommies  either, 
without  you?  " 

"  What  indeed !  "  Sophia  echoed  warmly.  "  I've  had 
no  chance,  as  yet ' 

"  Not  another  word,  my  dear  Miss  Farrell ! "  Laber- 
touche  protested,  acutely  uncomfortable.  "  To  've  been 
able  to  help  you  out  of  the  scrape  is  enough." 

"  But  I  must "  she  began,  and  stopped  with  a  lit- 
tle cry  as  a  shot  rang  out  from  the  heart  of  the  thicket, 
to  be  followed  by  another  and  then  by  a  shriek  of  agony 
and  a  great  confusion  of  sounds — shouts  and  oaths  and 
noisy  crashings  in  the  tamarisks  as  of  many  men  blun- 
dering hither  and  yon. 

Silenced,  with  a  slight  shudder  of  apprehension,  the 
girl  drew  to  Amber's  side,  as  if  instinctively.  He  took 
her  hand  and  drew  it  through  his  arm. 

"  Run  to  earth  at  last !  "  cried  Labertouche.  "  I  won- 
der  " 

"If  my  hope's  good  for  anything,"  Amber  laughed, 
less  because  he  felt  like  laughing  than  for  the  purpose 
of  reassuring  Sophia,  "  this  will  be  the  gentleman  who 
trained  the  Hooded  Death  to  dance,  or  else  he  who— 

He  was  thinking  with  vindictive  relish  of  what  fate 
he  would  mete  out  to  the  manipulator  of  the  Bell,  were 


346  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

it  left  to  him  to  pass  sentence.  But  he  broke  off  as  a 
body  of  soldiery  burst  from  the  tamarisks,  and,  headed 
by  young  Rowan,  hurried  toward  the  three,  bringing 
with  them  a  silent  and  unresisting  prisoner. 

"  I  say,"  the  officer  called  excitedly  in  advance, 
"  here's  something  uncommon'  rum.  It's  a  woman,  you 
know." 

"  Aha !  "  said  Labertouche,  and  "  Ah !  "  said  Amber, 
with  a  click  of  his  teeth,  while  the  woman  on  his  arm 
clung  to  him  the  closer. 

"  I  thought  we'd  better  bring  her  to  you,  for  she  said 
..."  Rowan  paused,  embarrassed,  and  took  a  fresh 
start.  "  My  men  got  to  the  ford  just  as  she  was  com- 
ing ashore  with  three  other  men,  and  the  whole  pack  took 
to  cover  on  this  side.  Two  of  the  men  are  still  missing, 
but  we  routed  out  the  other  just  now  with  this — ah — 
— lady.  He  showed  fight  and  got  bayonetted.  But 
the  woman — excuse  me,  Mr.  Amber — she  protests — by 
George,  it's  too  ridiculous ! " 

"  I  have  claimed  naught  that  is  not  true !  "  an  unfor- 
gettably sweet  voice  interrupted  from  the  centre  of  the 
group.  It  opened  out,  disclosing  Naraini  between 
two  guards,  in  that  moment  of  passion  and  fear  perhaps 
more  incomparably  beautiful  than  any  woman  they  had 
ever  looked  upon,  save  her  who  held  to  Amber's  arm, 
a-quiver  with  womanly  sympathy  and  compassion. 

During  her  flight  and  her  resistance  Naraini's  veil  had 
been  rent  away;  in  the  clear  starlight  her  countenance, 
framed  in  hair  of  lustrous  jet  and  working  with  uncon- 
trollable rage  and  despair,  shone  like  that  of  some 
strange  tempestuous  Aphrodite  fashioned  of  palest  gold. 


RUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  347 

Beneath  its  folds  of  tightly  drawn,  bespangled  gauze 
her  bosom  swelled  and  fell  convulsively,  and  on  her  per- 
fect arms,  more  softly  beautiful  than  any  Phidias  ever 
dreamed  to  chisel,  the  golden  bracelets  and  bangles 
clashed  and  tinkled  as  she  writhed  and  fought  to  free 
herself  of  the  defiling  hands.  Half-mad  with  disap- 
pointment, she  raged  amid  the  scattered  shreds  of  her 
dream  of  power  like  a  woman  hopelessly  deranged. 

"  Aye,  I  have  claimed ! "  she  stormed.  "  I  have 
claimed  justice  and  the  rights  of  wifehood,  the  protec- 
tion of  him  whose  wife  I  am ;  or,  if  he  deny  me,  I  claim 
that  he  must  suffer  with  me — he  who  hath  played  the 
traitor's  part  to-night,  betraying  his  Cause  and  his 
wife  alike  to  their  downfall!  ...  I  claim,"  she  in- 
sisted, lifting,  in  spite  of  the  soldiers'  restraining  hands, 
one  small  quivering  arm  to  single  Amber  out  and  point 
him  to  scorn,  "  that  this  is  the  man  who,  wedded  to  me 
by  solemn  right  and  the  custom  of  the  land,  hath  de- 
serted and  abandoned  me,  hath  denied  me  even  as  he 
denies  his  birthright,  when  it  doth  please  him,  and  for- 
swears the  faith  of  his  fathers !  I  claim  to  be  Naraini, 
Queen,  wife  to  Har  Dyal  Rutton,  rightful  ruler  of 
Khandawar — coward,  traitor,  renegade — who  stands 
there!" 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  Rowan,  shut  her  up !  "  cried 
Labertouche.  "It's  all  a  pack  of  lies;  the  woman's 
raving.  Rutton's  dead,  in  the  first  place ;  in  the  second, 
he's  her  father.  She  can't  be  his  wife  very  well,  whether 
he's  alive  or  dead.  It's  simply  a  dodge  of  hers  to  gain 
time.  Shut  her  up  and  take  her  away— she's  as  dan- 
gerous as  a  wildcat !  " 


348  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Nay,  I  will  not  be  gagged  nor  taken  hence  till  I 
have  said  my  say ! "  With  a  sudden  furious  wrench 
Naraini  wrested  her  arms  from  the  grasp  of  the  guards 
and  sprang  away,  eluding  with  lithe  and  snake-like 
movements  their  attempts  to  recapture  her.  "  Not,"  she 
cried,  "  until  I  have  wrought  my  will  upon  the  two  of 
them.  Thou  hast  stood  in  my  light  too  long,  O  my 
sister ! " 

A  hand  blazing  with  jewels  tore  at  the  covering  of 
her  bosom  and  suddenly  came  away  clutching  a  dagger, 
thin,  long,  and  keen;  and  snarling  she  sprang  toward 
the  girl,  to  whose  influence,  however  unwitting,  she 
rightly  ascribed  the  downfall  of  her  scheme  of  empire. 
Rowan  and  Labertouche  leaped  forward  and  fell  short, 
so  lightning  swift  she  moved ;  only  Amber  stood  between 
her  and  her  vengeance.  Choking  with  horror,  he  put  the 
girl  behind  him  with  a  resistless  hand,  and  took  Naraini 
to  his  arms. 

"  Ah,  hast  thou  changed  thy  mind,  Beloved?  "  The 
woman  caught  him  fiercely  to  her  with  an  arm  about  his 
waist,  and  her  voice  rose  shrill  with  mocking  triumph, 
"  Are  my  lips  become  so  sweet  to  thee  again  ?  Then 
see  how  I  kiss,  thou  fool !  " 

She  thrust  with  wicked  cunning,  twice  and  again,  be- 
fore the  men  tore  her  away  and  disarmed  her.  For  an 
instant  wrestling  like  a  demon  with  them,  still  animated 
by  her  murderous  frenzy,  still  wishful  to  fill  her  cup  of 
vengeance  to  the  brim  with  the  blood  of  the  girl,  she  of 
a  sudden  ceased  to  resist  and  fell  passive  in  their  hands, 
a  dying  flicker  of  satisfaction  in  the  eyes  that  watched 
the  culmination  of  her  crime. 


BUTTON'S  DAUGHTER  349 

To  Amber  it  was  as  if  his  body  had  been  penetrated 
thrice  by  a  needle  of  fire.  The  anguish  of  it  was  exqui- 
site, stupefying.  He  was  aware  of  a  darkening,  reeling 
world,  wherein  men's  faces  swam  like  moons,  pallid, 
staring,  and  of  a  mighty  and  invincible  lethargy  that 
pounced  upon  him,  body,  brain  and  soul,  like  a  black 
panther  springing  from  the  ambush  of  the  night.  Yet 
there  were  still  words  that  must  be  spoken,  lest  they  live 
in  his  subconsciousness  to  torment  him  through  all  the 
long,  black  night  that  was  to  receive  him.  He  tried  to 
steady  himself,  and  lifted  an  arm  that  vibrated  like  the 
sprung  limb  of  a  sapling,  signing  to  the  secret-agent. 

"  Labertouche,"  he  said  thickly  ..."  Sophia 
.  .  .  out  of  India  .  .  .  at  once  .  .  .  life  ..." 

The  girl's  arms  received  him  as  he  fell. 


XX 

A    LATER    DAY 

* 

A  MAN  awoke  from  a  long  dream  of  night  and  fear,  of 
passion,  pain,  and  death,  and  opened  eyes  whose  vision 
seemed  curiously  clear,  to  realise  a  new  world,  very  un- 
like that  in  which  the  incoherent  action  of  his  dream 
had  moved — a  world  of  light  and  lively  air,  as  sweet  and 
wholesome  as  glistening  white  paint,  sunshine,  and  an 
abundance  of  pure,  cool  air  could  render  it. 

Because  he  had  known  these  things  in  a  former  exist- 
ence, he  understood  that  he  lay  in  the  lower  berth 
of  a  first-cabin  stateroom,  aboard  an  ocean  steamship; 
a  spacious,  bright  box  of  a  room,  through  whose  open 
ports  swayed  brilliant  shafts  of  temperate  sunlight,  to- 
gether with  great  gusts  of  the  salt  sweet  breath  of  the 
open  sea.  Through  them,  too,  he  could  see  patches  of 
unclouded  blue,  athwart  which  now  and  again  gulls 
would  sweep  on  flashing,  motionless  pinions. 

The  man  lay  still  and  at  peace,  watching,  wondering 
idly,  soothed  by  the  sense  of  being  swung  through  space, 
only  vaguely  conscious  of  the  plunging  pulsations  of  the 
ship's  engines,  hammering  away  indomitably  far  in  the 
hold  beneath  him.  His  thoughts  busied  themselves 
lightly  with  a  number  of  important  questions,  to  whose 
answers  the  man  realised  that  he  was  singularly  indif- 
ferent. Who  was  he?  What  had  happened  to  bring 

350 


A  LATER  DAY  351 

him  back  to  life  (for  he  was  sure  that  he  had  died,  a  long 
time  ago)?  How  had  he  come  to  that  stateroom? 
What  could  the  name  of  the  vessel  be?  Where  .  .  . 
Deep  thoughts  were  these  and  long;  the  man  drowsed 
over  them,  but  presently  was  aroused  by  the  sensation 
of  being  no  longer  alone,  of  being  watched. 

His  eyeballs  seemed  to  move  reluctantly  in  their  sock- 
ets, and  his  head  felt  very  light  and  empty,  although 
so  heavy  that  he  could  not  lift  it  from  the  pillow.  But 
he  managed  to  shift  his  gaze  from  the  window  until  it 
rested  upon  a  man's  face — a  gaunt,  impassive  brown 
face  illuminated  by  steady  and  thoughtful  eyes, 
filled  with  that  mystic,  unshakable  spirit  of  fatalism 
that  is  the  real  Genius  of  the  eastern  peoples.  The  head 
itself  stood  out  with  almost  startling  distinctness  against 
the  background  of  pure  white.  It  was  swathed  with 
an  immaculate  white  turban.  The  thin,  stringy  brown 
neck  ran  into  a  loose  surtout  of  snowy  white. 

The  sick  man  felt  that  he  recognised  this  counte- 
nance— had  known  it,  rather,  in  some  vague,  half- 
remembered  life  before  his  latest  death.  The  name 
.  .  .  ?  He  felt  his  lips  move  and  that  they  were 
thin  and  glazed.  Moistening  them  with  his  tongue  he 
made  another  attempt  to  articulate.  A  thin  whisper 
passed  them  in  two  breaths :  "  Ram  .  .  .  Nath  ..." 

Hearing  this,  the  dark  man  started  out  of  his  abstrac- 
tion, cast  a  swift,  pitiful  glance  at  the  sick  man's  face, 
and  came  to  hold  a  tumbler  to  his  lips.  The  liquid,  col- 
ourless, acrid,  and  pungent,  slipped  into  his  mouth,  and 
he  had  to  swallow  whether  he  would  or  no.  When  the 
final  drop  disappeared,  Ram  Nath  put  down  the  glass, 


352  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

smiled,  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  and  went  on  tiptoe  from 
the  stateroom. 

After  awhile  the  man  without  an  identity  fell  asleep, 
calmly,  restfully,  in  absolute  peace.  When  again  he 
awakened  it  was  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  David 
Amber,  and  that  a  woman  sat  beside  him. 

Her  face  was  turned  from  him,  and  her  brown  eyes, 
clouded  with  dreams,  were  staring  steadfastly  out 
through  the  open  port ;  the  flowing  banners  of  sunshine 
now  and  again  touched  her  hair  with  quick  fire — her 
wonderfully  spun  hair,  itself  scarcely  less  radiant  than 
the  light  that  illumined  it.  Against  the  blue-white 
background  her  gracious  profile  showed  womanly  and 
sweet.  There  was  rich  colour  in  cheeks  fresh  from  the 
caress  of  the  sea  wind.  She  smiled  in  her  musing,  scar- 
let lips  apart. 

"Sophia   ..." 

His  voice  sounded  in  his  own  hearing  very  thin  and 
brittle.  The  girl  turned  her  gaze  upon  him  swiftly,  the 
soft  smile  deepening,  the  dream-light  in  her  eyes  burn- 
ing brighter  and  more  steady.  She  bent  forward,  plac- 
ing over  his  wasted  hand  a  hand  firm  and  warm,  strong 
yet  gentle,  its  whiteness  enhanced  by  the  suggested 
tracery  of  blue  veins  beneath  the  silken  skin,  and  by  the 
rosy  tips  of  her  slender,  subtle  fingers. 

"  David  !  "  she  said. 

He  sighed  and  remembered.  His  brows  knitted,  then 
smoothed  themselves  out;  for  with  memory  came  the 
realisation  that,  since  he  was  there  and  she  by  his  side, 
God  was  surely  in  his  Heaven,  all  well  with  the  world ! 

"  How  long   .    .    .    Sophia?  " 


A  LATER  DAY 

"  Five  days,  David." 

"Where   .    .    .    ?" 

"  At  sea,  David,  on  a  Messageries  boat  for  Marseilles. 
Dear  ..." 

He  closed  his  eyes  in  beatific  content :  "  David  .  .  . 
Dear  .  .  .  ! " 

"  Can  you  listen  ?  " 

"  Yes    .    .    .    sweetheart." 

Her  voice  faltered ;  she  flushed  adorably.  "  You 
mustn't  talk.  But  I'll  tell  you.  .  .  .  They  refused 
to  let  us  go  back  to  Kuttarpur ;  an  escort  took  us  across 
the  desert  to  Nok,  you  in  a  litter,  I  on  horseback.  There 
we  took  train  to  Haidarabad  and  Karachi.  Ram  Nath 
came  with  us,  as  bearer,  it  being  necessary  that  he  too 
should  leave  India.  My  father  and  your  man  Doggott 
joined  us  at  Karachi,  where  this  steamer  touched  the 
second  day." 

"  You  understand,  now ?  " 

"  Everything,  dearest." 

"  Labertouche ?  " 

"  He  told  me  nothing.  I  haven't  seen  him  since  that 
morning,  when,  just  after  you  were  wounded,  we  started 
for  Nok.  He  posted  off  to  Kuttarpur  to  find  my 
father.  .  .  .  No ;  it  was  you  who  told  me — everything 
— in  your  delirium." 

"  And   .    .    .   you  forgive ?  " 

"  Forgive ! " 

He  smiled  faintly.     "  That  photograph?  " 

"  I  had  it  ready  to  return  to  you  that  morning, 
David." 

"  Knowing  what  it  meant  to  me  ?  " 


354  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  Knowing  what  it  meant  to  me — what  it  meant  to 
both  of  us,  David." 

"  So  you  weren't  offended,  that  night?  " 

"  I  loved  you  even  then,  David.  I  think  I  must  have 
loved  you  from  that  first  day  at  Nokomis.  Do  you  re- 
member .  .  .  ?  " 

His  eyes  widened,  perplexed,  staring  into  her  grave, 
dear  eyes.  "  Then  why  did  you  pretend ?  " 

With  the  low,  caressing  laugh  of  a  happy  child,  the 
girl  knelt  by  the  side^of  his  berth,  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  his  own.  "  Oh,  David,  my  David !  When  do 
you  expect  to  understand  the  heart  of  a  woman,  dear 
heart  of  mine?  " 


XXI 

THE    FINAL   INCARNATION 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  of  an  evening  in  April  the  Cunarder 
Caronia,  four  hours  out  from  Queenstown  and  buckling 
down  to  a  night's  hard  work  against  the  northwesterly 
gale,  shipped  a  sea.  It  was  not  much  of  a  sea — merely  a 
playful  slap  of  a  wave  that  broke  against  the  staunch 
black  side  and  glanced  upward  in  a  shower  of  spray, 
spattering  liberally  a  solitary  passenger  who  had  been 
showing  enough  interest  in  the  weather  to  remain  on 
deck  until  that  particular  moment.  Apparently  undis- 
concerted  by  the  misadventure,  he  shook  himself  and 
laughed  a  sober,  contented  laugh,  found  a  handkerchief 
and  mopped  his  face  with  it,  then,  with  a  final  approv- 
ing survey  of  the  lowering  and  belligerent  canopy  of 
wind-cloud  that  overhung  the  tortured  ocean,  permitted 
himself  to  be  blown  aft  to  the  door  of  the  first-cabin 
smoking-room.  Opening  this  by  main  strength,  he 
entered.  The  gale  saved  him  the  bother  of  closing  it. 

Removing  his  rain-coat  and  cap  and  depositing  them 
on  a  convenient  chair,  he  glanced  round  the  room  and 
discovered  that  he  shared  it  with  a  single  passenger,  who 
was  placidly  exhausting  the  virtues  of  an  excellent  cig- 
arette. Upon  this  gentleman  the  newcomer  bent  a  re- 
gard steadfast  and  questioning,  but  after  returning  it 
casually  the  smoker  paid  him  no  further  attention.  Dis- 
satisfied, the  other  moved  toward  him,  and  the  deck 

355 


356  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

slanted  suddenly  and  obligingly  the  better  to  accelerate 
his  progress,  so  that  he  brought  up  with  a  lurch  in  the 
seat  next  the  smoker.  The  latter  raised  the  eyebrows  of 
surprise  and  hoped  that  the  gentleman  had  not  hurt 
himself. 

"  I  didn't,  thank  you,  Mr.  David  Amber." 

Mr.  David  Amber  looked  the  gentleman  over  with 
heightened  interest.  He  saw  a  man  of  medium  height, 
with  a  sturdy  figure  that  bore  without  apparent  fatigue 
the  years  that  go  with  slightly  greyish  hair.  He  was 
quietly  dressed  and  had  intelligent  eyes,  but  was  alto- 
gether unimpressive  of  manner,  save  for  a  certain  vague 
air  of  reserve  that  assorted  quaintly  with  his  present 
attitude. 

"  You've  the  advantage  of  me,  sir,"  Amber  summed 
up  the  result  of  his  scrutiny. 

"  It's  not  the  first  time,"  asserted  the  other,  with  an 
argumentative  shake  of  his  head. 

"  No-o  ?  "  Light  leaped  in  Amber's  eyes.  "  Laber- 
touche!" 

"  Surprised  you,  eh  ?  "  The  Englishman  grinned 
with  pleasure,  pumping  Amber's  arm  cordially.  "  I 
don't  mind  owning  that  I  meant  to." 

"  Well,  considering  that  this  is  positively  your  first 
appearance  as  yourself  on  the  stage  of  my  life,  you 
don't  deserve  any  credit  for  being  able  to  deceive  me. 
When  one  gets  accustomed  to  remembering  you  only  as 

a  native — generally  as  a  babu  in  dirty  pink  satin 

.  .  .  Do  you  know,  I  made  all  sorts  of  enquiries  after 
you,  but  they  told  me,  in  response  to  my  wires  to  Cal- 
cutta, that  you'd  dropped  out  of  the  world  entirely.  I 


THE  FINAL  INCARNATION  357 

had  begun  to  fear  that  those  damned  natives  must  have 
got  you,  after  all,  and  that  I'd  never  see  you  again." 

"  I'd  almost  given  up  hope  of  ever  seeing  myself 
again,"  said  Labertouche  drily. 

"  But  why  didn't  you ?  " 

"  Business,  dear  boy,  business.  ...  I  was  needed 
for  several  days  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Kathiapur." 

"  It  seems  as  though  I'd  waited  several  years  for 
news  of  Kathiapur.  The  papers " 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  that  happen  in  India 
that  fail  to  get  into  the  newspapers,  Amber.  It  wasn't 
thought  necessary  to  advise  the  world,  including  Rus- 
sia, that  half  the  native  potentates  in  Hindustan  had 
been  caught  in  the  act  of  letting  the  Second  Mutiny 
loose  upon  India."  A  network  of  fine  wrinkles  appeared 
about  his  eyes  as  he  smiled  enjoyment  of  what  he  seemed 
to  consider  a  memorable  joke. 

"  Go  on,"  pleaded  Amber. 

"  Kathiapur  was  a  sort  of  mousetrap ;  the  brutes  came 
out  by  twos  and  three,  just  as  I  said  they  would,  for  the 
better  part  of  three  days.  It  was  either  surrender  or 
starve  with  them,  and  after  five-sixths  of  them  had 
elected  not  to  starve  we  turned  a  couple  of  companies 
of  Tommies  into  the  place,  and  I  don't  believe  they  left 
unturned  a  stone  big  enough  to  hide  a  rabbit.  One  by 
one  they  routed  'em  out  and  booted  'em  down  to  us. 
Meanwhile  we  had  rushed  enough  troops  to  Kuttarpur 
to  keep  their  tails  quiet." 

"And  Salig  Singh — and  Naraini?  " 

"  Salig  Singh,  it  turned  out,  was  the  chap  that  got 
bayoneted  in  the  tamarisks.  Naraini  managed  some- 


358  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

how  to  steal  away  the  next  night,  under  the  noses  of 
any  number  of  sentries;  beauty  such  as  hers  would 
bribe  her  way  out  of  hell,  I  think.  What  became  of  her 
I  don't  know,  but  I  can  prophesy  that  she  won't  live 
long.  She  was  rather  too  advanced  in  her  views,  for 
India — some  centuries  ahead  of  her  race.  She  and 
Salig  Singh  had  it  all  planned,  you  know;  his  was  the 
master-mind,  hers  the  motive-power.  They  were  to 
crown  you,  instead  of  Salig's  son,  the  next  day — in  the 
name  of  Har  Dyal  Rutton ;  and  then  you  were  to  die 
suddenly  by  virtue  of  hemp  poison  or  some  other  con- 
tagious disease,  and  Salig  was  to  step  into  your  shoes 
as  Emperor  of  Hindustan,  with  Naraini  as  his  Empress. 
i.  .  .  She  should  have  stayed  home  and  been  a  suf- 
fragette." 

"  Better  for  her,"  said  Amber.  "  Of  course  I've 
found  out  about  her,  from  Farrell.  It  seems  that  she 
was  brought  up  in  England,  with  Sophia,  and  always 
given  to  believe  she  was  his  own  daughter,  but  she  was  a 
wild  thing  and  hard  to  handle.  One  day  she  found  out 
about  her  parentage — how,  it's  not  known,  but  Farrell 
suspects  that  the  men  who  were  hounding  Rutton  got 
into  communication  with  her.  At  all  events,  she  brooded 
over  the  thing,  and  when,  five  years  or  so  ago,  Mrs. 
Farrell  died  and  the  Colonel  sent  for  Sophia  to  join  him 
in  India,  Naraini — well,  she  rebelled.  He  refused  to  let 
her  leave  England,  and  she  finally  took  the  bit  in  her 
teeth  and  ran  away — vanished  and  was  never  heard  of 
again  until  Sophia  recognised  her  in  Kathiapur." 

"  I  myself  can  fill  in  the  gap,"  Labertouche  volun- 
teered. "  She  joined  some  of  Salig's  underlings  in  Paris 


THE  FINAL  INCARNATION  359 

and  went  thence  direct  to  Khandawar,  assuming  the 
name  of  one  of  the  old  queens  who  had  elected  oppor- 
tunely to  die.  .  .  .  Queer  case — singular  instance  of 
reversion  to  type." 

"  A  mighty  distressing  one  to  the  old  colonel ;  you 
know  Rutton  kept  religiously  to  his  promise  not  to  see 
the  child  after  he'd  given  her  into  Farrell's  care.  Far- 
rell  lost  all  track  of  him  and  was  unable  to  communicate 
with  him,  of  course,  when  Naraini  chose  to  strike  out  for 
herself.  .  .  .  One  thing  has  always  puzzled  me;  the 
girl  called  me  by  her  father's  name,  pretending  to  recog- 
nise me  as  her  husband;  you  can't  reconcile  such  con- 
duct." 

"  You  can,  easily  enough — beg  pardon,  my  dear  fel- 
low. Neither  she  nor  Salig  Singh  was  for  an  instant 
deceived.  But  Salig  had  to  deliver  up  a  Har  Dyal  Rut- 
ton  to  the  Council,  so  Naraini  was  set  to  seduce  you. 
Their  plans  only  required  that  you  should  be  madly 
infatuated  with  her  for  a  couple  of  days;  after  that 
..."  Labertouche  turned  down  his  thumb  signifi- 
cantly. "  I  fancy  there  must  have  been  a  family 
secret  or  tradition,  handed  down  from  father  to  son  in 
the  Rutton  line,  that  some  day  one  of  the  family  would 
be  called  upon  to  raise  the  standard  of  the  Second 
Mutiny.  That  will  explain  why  Har  Dyal  Rutton, 
a  gentleman  of  parts  and  cultivation,  dared  not  live 
in  India,  and  why — because  he  was  sworn  to  keep  the 
secret — he  laid  stress  on  the  condition  that  you  were  not 
to  mention  his  name." 

"  Still,   he   gave   me   permission    to   talk   to   Dhola 

Baksh." 


360  THE  BRONZE  BELL 

"  True ;  but  it  seems  that  Dhola  Baksh  had  been  his 
confidential  body-servant  in  Kuttarpur,  during  his 
too-brief  reign.  Rutton  thought  he  would  be  able  to 
help  you,  and  knew  that  he  would  be  loyal  to  his  master's 
memory." 

"  Finally,  what  about  that  photograph  ?  " 

"  You've  Salig  Singh  to  thank  for  its  return,  I  fancy. 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  But  they  were  bent  on 
luring  you  to  Naraini's  bower,  and  they  figured  that 
after  receiving  it  you'd  go  anywhere  to  meet  the  man 
who  returned  it.  By  the  way,  where's  Ram  Nath?  " 

"  He's  staying  in  England  as  body-servant  to  Colonel 
Farrell."  - 

"  He's  well  off,  so ;  his  sphere  of  usefulness  in  India 
was  at  an  end.  So,  in  fact,  was  mine.  That's  why  I'm 
here — on  indefinite  leave  of  absence.  One  or  two  things 
grew  out  of  the  affair  of  the  Gateway  to  make  me  a 
person  of  interest  to  the  natives,  and  when  that  happens 
in  India  it's  just  as  well  for  the  interesting  person  to 
pack  up  and  get  thence  with  all  possible  expedition. 
It's  too  bad ;  I  was  really  doing  some  good  work  there. 
Well  .  .  .  !  When  the  East  gets  into  a  fellow's  blood, 
he's  a  hopeless,  incurable  case;  I  shall  go  back,  I 
presume,  some  day.  If  the  big  trouble  comes  in  my 
lifetime — and  I  think  it  will;  come  it  will  unquestion- 
ably, soon  or  late — I  shan't  be  able  to  keep  away,  you 
know."  He  glanced  at  his  watch  and  rose.  "  Time  to 
dress  for  dinner,"  said  he;  and  as  they  were  moving  to 
the  door,  he  added :  "  What  ever  became  of  that  emerald 
ring,  Amber?  " 

"  The  Eye?  "    Amber  laughed.     "  Well— it  was  silly 


THE  FINAL  INCARNATION  361 

enough ;  but  women  are  superstitious,  you  know — Sophia 
dropped  it  overboard  one  day  as  we  were  coming  through 
the  Mediterranean.  She  said  she  was  afraid  of  it  .  .  . 
and  I  don't  know  but  I  sympathise  with  her." 

"  I'm  certain  I  do.  And  yet,  in  your  case,  it  was  the 
means  of  introducing  you,  wasn't  it?  .  .  .  But  there! 
It's  been  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  a  dozen  times  to  ask, 
but  other  things  got  in  the  way.  .  .  .  How  is  Mrs. 
Amber?  " 

"  You  shall  see  for  yourself,"  said  Amber,  "  when  we 
meet  for  dinner." 


THE    END 


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